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Full text of "The New England magazine"

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CENEAIOSY DEPARTMENT 



ALLEN COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY 



3 1833 01746 7207 



GENEALOGY 
974 
N4215 
1907-1908 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2012 



http://archive.org/details/newenglandmagaziv37bost 



New England Magazine 






An Illustrated Monthly 



NEW SERIES, VOLUME 37 



September, 1907 — -February, 1908 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1908, by 

NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE COMPANY 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington 

All Rights Reserved 



Boston, Mass. 

NEW° ENGLAND MAGAZINE COMPANY, Publishers 

6 Beacon Street 



INDEX 

VOL. XXXVII SEPTEMBER, 1907 — FELRUARY, 1908 

PAGE 

Affairs at Washington (see "Men and Affairs at Washington") 

All-Hallow's Honeymoon, An (Story) Jeannette A. Marks 308 

American Scenery, Old-Time 

Washington 219 

Philadelphia - 3*3 

New York - 5°9 

Bagdad, The Home of Sindbad and Aladdin Edgar J. Banks 177 

Barrel of Plum Duff, A - William. H. Dearden 247 

Boston Journalism, Nineteenth-Century Edward H. Clement 92 

Books as I See Them Kate Sanborn 

September ... , 124 

October - - 250 

November ■ 387 

December 5 I<D 

January 638 

February 77 2 

Colonial and Patriotic Elisabeth Merritt Gosse 225 

Choju-So, the Legend of the Chrysanthemum Esther Matson 175 

Concerning Home and School Sarah Louise Arnold 

October - 225 

November 366 

Culture Value of Modern Languages, The Prof. G. Stanley Hall 167 

Connecticut, What's the Matter with Frank Putnam 267 

Conspirators, The, a Christmas Play Ralph Henry Barbour 425 

Cooper's Youth, A Year of Edith A. Sawyer 498 

Defying Napoleon Edward Clarence Plummer ... 619 

Dreams in Jeopardy (Story) Jeannette A. Marks 64 

Editorial 

September 99 

October 229 

November 369 

December 493 

January 616 

February 749 

Editor's Table 

September 122 

October 241 

November 383 

December 505 

January - 634 

February T. .. . . 765 

Engaging Mission, An (Story) Florence Martin Eastland 732 

Farmi ng as I See It Kate Sanborn 205 

Garden Unmasked, The Frank Frost Abbott 694 

Gay Deceiver, A (Story) Mabel S. Merrill 46 

Great Maine Conspiracy, The .Lewis A. Barker 371 

Historical Pictures of Frank O. Small, The William MacDonald 57 



INDEX 



mi 



PAGE 

Inconsistent Romance, An (Story) Abbie Farwell Brown 685 

Job Stanwood, Scout (Story) Thomas J. Partridge 72 

John Grove's Revenge (Story) Frazer L. Montague 1 09 

Kennebec, Loyalists of the Charles E. Allen 623 

Letters of a Wellesley Girl H. B. Adams 

September 32 

October 161 

November 360 

December 433 

January 607 

February 679 

Keifer's Raise (Story) Elliot Walker 759 

Laying a Long-distance Line Frederic Rice, Jr 322 

Last Discipline, A (Story) Jeannette Marks 752 

Lazy Woman, The Elizabeth Patton McGilvary , . 612 

Love and Sentiment (from prints in the collection of H. E. 

Knight) 419 

Loyalists of the Kennebec Charles E. Allen 623 

Maine Conspiracy, The Great Lewis A. Barker 371 

Marietta, the Pioneer City of the West Willia Dawson Cotton 696 

Massachusetts, What's the Matter with Frank Putnam 395 

Men and Affairs at Washington David S. Barry 

September 79 

October 209 

November 345 

December 443 

January 590 

Mistake, The (Story) Annie Hamilton Donnell .... 116 

Miss Nancy's Po'ch in Battletown Clara Wood Shipman 489 

Museum of Fine Arts, The New Frederick W. Coburn 548 

Music of our Forefathers, The Adeline Frances Fitz 669 

New England Secretaries of the Navy Charles Oscar Paullin 65 1 

New England Society in the City of New York Winthrop Packard 523 

Nicked Platters and Hearts (Story) Mary C. Ringwalt 689 

Nineteenth-Century Boston Journalism Edward H. Clement 92 

Numbered Days, The (Story) : Wilhelmina Hastings 484 

Old King Spruce (Story) Holman F. Day 

September 37 

October 193 

November 299 

December ., 473 

January 554 

Old-Time American Scenery • 569 

Patricia's Christmas Family (Story) Emilia Elliott 437 

Peter Fada's Daughter (Story) Cahir Healy 598 

Philadelphia, Views of Old-Time 3*3 

Picturesque New England 711 

Promotion of Lemuel Cady, The (Story) 335 

Rediscovering an Old House Ellen Straw Thompson 185 

Rheumatism of Rajah, The (Story) William Arnold Jacobs 630 

Rhode Island, What's the Matter with Frank Putnam 131 

Son's Son (Story) Annie Hamilton Donnell 341 

Tale of a Lost Island Beatrice Grimshaw 291 

Tickle-Town Topics 107 

Up Mount Popocatepetl G. F. Paul 5° 

Upcoming of Daniel Deegan, The (Story) .Freeman Harding 601 



iv INDEX 

PAGE 

Vermont, What 's the Matter with , Frank Putnam 3 

Views along the Hudson River 453 

Views o\ Old-Time Washington 219 

Views of Old-Time Philadelphia 313 

What's the Matter with New England Frank Putnam 

Vermont 3 

Rhode Island 131 

Connecticut 267 

Massachusetts 395 

Wellesley Girl (see "Letters of a Wellesley Girl") 

Washington, Views of Old-Time 219 

What May the Schools Do to Advance the Appreciation of 

Art ? Prof. H. Lang ford Warren . . . 739 

World's Debt to Holland in the Cause of Peace, The Edwin D. Mead 232 

Whom the Gods Love (Story) Virna Sheard 728 

Year of Cooper's Youth, A Edith A . Sawyer 498 



POETRY 



Along Earth's Pathway Charlotte W. Thurston 547 

At the Year's End Clinton Scollard 488 

Alchemy Isabella Howe Fiske 365 

Baffled Pauline Carrington Bouve ... 31 

Before an American Election Arthur Upson 298 

Carnation, The Louise Ayres Garnett 492 

Closed Door, The Pauline Carrington Bouve . . . 509 

Dying Y'ear, The Eugene C. Dolson 515 

Destiny James Buckham 184 

Energetic Aunt Sally Grace Stone Field 600 

Early Morning at Marblehead Edith De Blois Laskey 764 

East, The James Brannin 45 

From the Dark Josephine Belding , . 365 

Heart of Mary, The Maude Browne 61 1 

His Heritage Gertrude Brooke Hamilton 695 

Home Folk, The ' Edwin L. Sabin 228 

I ndian Summer -. Pauline Frances Camp 1 74 

In Memory of a Day Margaret N. Goodnow 1 74 

Iseult of Brittany Margaret Ashmun 246 

In the Full Flood of an Autumnal Day Clinton Scollard 91 

Leaf Mold Cora A. Matson Dolson 391 

Line-Storm Song, A Robert Frost 204 

Miss Susan Robbins Edith Miniter 597 

Margaret Fuller Margaret Ashmun 382 

Miracle, A William Herbert Carruth 1 76 

Mountain-Chain of the Years, The Charlotte W. Thurston 218 

My Valentine Ruth Wheaton Waters 758 

Nature's All Saints' Day J. C. Crowell 192 

Nocturne Aldis Dunbar 763 

Ol 5 Mis' Petti grew Theodosia Garrison 629 

Outcasts, The Charlotte Becker 240 

On a Portrait of Miss Alcott Margaret Ashmun 78 

Samaritan, The Stephen Tracy Livingston .... 771 

Silen< e Harley R. Wiley 418 



INDEX v 

PAGE 

Silence Charles Hamilton Musgrove . 344 

She Hath a Way Alice Spicer 359 

Song Grace Hazard Conkling 776 

Song-Weavers, The Charlton Lawrence Edholm . . . 386 

St. Valentine's Day Charlotte W. Thurston 688 

September Alice F. Tilden j 06 

Thoreau's Walden Margaret Ashmun 678 

Trysting-Place, The Dora Read Goodale 224 

To the Closed Gentian Christine P. Kelley 386 

Triumph of the Maples, The Edward Wilbur Mason 63 

Who Counts the Cost ? .Hildegarde Hawthorne 231 

Why ? Grace Hazard Conkling 668 

Windy Sunset, A Alice F. Tilden 340 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 

FEBRUARY, 1908 

New England Magazine Co., Publishers, 6 Beacon St., Boston 
SrooaYear EhteredatBos^ 2 z>c. a Number 

O w x Copyright, 1907, by New England Magazine Co. ^ J^ 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

John D. Long, Secretary of the Navy from 1897- 1902 (Frontispiece) 

New England Secretaries of the Navy. Charles Oscar Paullin 651 

Why? Poem Grace H. Conkling 668 

Music of Our Forefathers Adeline Frances Fitz 669 

Thoreau's Walden. Poem Margaret Ashmun 678 

Letters of a Wellesley Girl. XI., XII. .H. B. Adams 679 

An Inconsistent Romance Abbie Farwell Brown 685 

St. Valentine's Day. Poem Charlotte W. Thurston 688 

Nicked Platters and Hearts May C. Ringwalt 689 

The Garden Unmasked. . Frank Frost Abbott . . .' 694 

His Heritage. Poem Gertrude Brooke Hamilton 695 

Marietta, the Pioneer City of the West 

Willia Dawson Cotton 696 

Progress. Poem Aldis Dunbar 710 

The Sea-Shell. Poem Virna Sheard 710 

Picturesque New England .711 

Whom the Gods Love Virna Sheard 728 

An Engaging Mission Florence Martin Eastland 732 

What May the Schools Do to Advance the Appreciation of Art? 

Prof. H. Langford Warren 738 

Editorial 748 

A Last Discipline Jeannette Marks 752 

My Valentine. Poem Ruth Wheaton Waters ■. . . 758 

Keifer's Raise Elliot Walker 759 

Nocturne. Poem Aldis Dunbar 763 

Early Morning at Marblehead. Poem . Edith De Blois Laskey 764 

Editor's Table 765 

The Samaritan. Poem Stephen Tracy Livingston 771 

Books as I See Them Kate Sanborn 772 

Song. Poem Grace Hazard Conkling 776 

Book Notes 




His Excellency Fletcher Proctor, Governor of Vermont 



New England Magazine 



Vol. XXXVII 



SEPTEMBER, 1907 



Number 1 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH 
NEW ENGLAND? 



in 



VERMONT, THRIFTY AND INCORRUPTIBLE, A 
MODEL STATE 

By FRANK PUTNAM 




AGAZINE - WRITERS 

who go to Vermont may 
as well leave their muck- 
rakes at home. There is 
n't any muck in Ver- 
mont. The Green Moun- 
tain State is firm and clean 
from the heart out. She was born with a 
chip on her shoulder, and she has it there 
yet. She has n't made extraordinary gains 
in population ; her present total is about one- 
half that of St. Louis, or one-third that of 
Greater Boston — say 350,000. But it's a 
population of as high a grade as any in 
America. The "sturdy yeomanry" of 
•colonial days is still doing business in Ver- 
mont. She had not the aristocratic tradi- 
tions of her sister State, New Hampshire; 
she was never ruled by Hall and Kirk. Her 
rulers were her farmers, her mechanics, and 
her hunters, plain producers and fighting 
men, aware of their rights and able at every 
turn in the road to maintain them. To-day 
there is the greatest possible contrast be- 
tween the temper and spirit of the people of 
the two neighboring commonwealths — 
New Hampshire's, coldly indifferent or 
.shrewdly suspicious of the stranger within 
the gates; Vermont's, cordially receptive 



and hospitable in a delightful blending of 
the Western and the Southern manners. 

Your man, or social group, that lives aloof 
from the common life is sure to become 
insular and provincial. On the other hand, 
your man or social group that lives along the 
highway of war, where hospitality is a plain 
necessity and courtesy frequently prevents 
hostilities, is pretty sure to develop just 
those admirable qualities that endear Ver- 
monters to the visitor. Vermont, moreover, 
lies between New York and New Hamp- 
shire, — social groups of different origins 
and characteristics, — and she has taken 
from both something of their best, while 
surrendering little or none of her own espe- 
cial quality of sturdy self-reliance. Ver- 
mont, in a word, is the Iowa of the East. 
Out West, in my boyhood, they used to say 
that Iowa was the Vermont of the West. 
You can play that equation either way, and 
it will work out. 

Vermont, like Texas, set up in business as 
a free and independent republic. The differ- 
ence was that Texas was recognized formally 
by the United States, and elected chief ad- 
ministrators who were officially known as 
presidents. Vermont for a dozen years had 
the substance of independence, treated as a 



&taAl 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Lieutenant-Governor Prouty and his clerks 



free State with both the United States and 
the mother government of Great Britain at 
the same time, on equal terms, and finally 
(1791), as she had all the time intended to 
do, she won her way into the American fed- 
eration of sovereign States as an equal, 
despite the jealous opposition of' New 
Hampshire and New York. Few schoolboys 
in the West and South know it, but Ethan 
Allen's brother Ira was as clever with his 
pen, and with his statesman's brain behind 
the pen, as Ethan was with gun and sword. 
They were a great team, and it would be 
hard to say which of the two men is the 
more honored in Vermont to-day. Ethan 
has the monuments, but students of the 
State's history pay highest tribute to his 
quieter brother's diplomacy and unflagging 
patriotism. 

How Vermont Suggests Kentucky 

I think that Vermont reminds me more 
of Kentucky — historically — than of any- 
other State. Her founders were coonskin- 
cap men, handy with the rifle and the axe, 
keen in barter, and able in debate where 



their State's vital interests were concerned. 
Like Kentucky, Vermont has always been a 
" border" State, across which flowed in 
turn the tides of war and trade. Like Ken- 
tucky, Vermont is best known to the world 
at large for her pretty girls and her fine 
horses. Like Kentucky again, Vermont 
sent many thousands of her hard-riding r 
straight-shooting, deep-drinking, ardently 
amorous sons westward to populate the 
new commonwealths carved out of the Mis- 
sissippi Valley. Vermonters in Iowa and 
Kentuckians in Missouri are next-door 
neighbors to this day. And they're right 
good people, the same as their fathers be- 
fore them. The Vermonters in Iowa are 
still voting for Abe Lincoln, and the Ken- 
tuckians in Missouri are still voting for 
Jeff Davis — stubborn tribes, both of them ; 
good friends now because they knew how to 
be square enemies when they had vital dif- 
ferences of opinion that could be settled 
only on the field of honor. 

Vermont's Morgans have given a hardier 
strain to Kentucky's thoroughbreds, and 
the thoroughbreds of Kentucky, through 
long cross-breeding, have lent a spright- 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 




Speaker Cheney and his staff 



lier grace and a glossier coat to the shag- 
gy, thick-limbed Morgan horses of Ver- 
mont. 

Some Things Vermont Has Given Us 

The melancholy political conditions of 
Maine and New Hampshire had made me 
pessimistic concerning New England. "If 
Vermont is as bad," I thought, "I don't 
want to know it. The State that gave us the 
Morgan horse, Ethan Allen, maple sugar, 
George Dewey, Clark of the Oregon, and 
the Green Mountain Boys; the State that 
first abolished human slavery; the State 
that sent to my little home town in Iowa 
the noblest public-school teacher that I 
have ever known; — that State may have 
fallen upon evil days, but if so, I'd rather 
not find it out." 

I soon learned better. 

Vermont has a large Legislature — thirty 
senators and two hundred and forty-four 
representatives. Senators are chosen on the 
basis of population. Each city and town has 
one representative. The executive depart- 
ment is like that of the Western States, — 



there are elective heads of the several State 
departments, but there is no governor's 
council. Vermont had a council in her early 
days, but it was recognized to be a fifth 
wheel, and was soon removed. The genius 
of Vermont, like the genius of Japan, is the 
genius of common sense, and the shortest 
path to the desired result most commends 
itself to the Vermont mind. There is an in- 
equality in the fact of the city of Burlington, 
with twenty thousand inhabitants, having 
no more voting strength in the State As- 
sembly than the smallest township; but such 
is the degree of intelligent general interest 
in public affairs in the State that this in- 
equality has not worked out evil results, as 
in Rhode Island. There is no political boss 
in Vermont. The Green Mountain State 
may have the semblance of political ring 
rule,— I was told it had,— but it rests 
lightly upon her people; and their habit of 
tossing it aside in case of need proves that 
they still enjoy what they fought for in the 
State's infancy,— the substance of political 
freedom. 

That is one of the ways in which Ver- 
mont differs from its neighbor. 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Statue of General Lafayette in the State University yard at Burlington 



The Very Light "Rule "of the Proctors 

In New Hampshire I was told that "the 
Proctors rule Vermont" just as firmly as the 
Boston & Maine rules New Hampshire. 
Not so. The Proctors would be the last men 
on earth, even in their most secret thoughts, 
to make any such affirmation. Senator Red- 
field Proctor and Governor Fletcher Proc- 



tor, his son, are aware that their leadership 
rests upon an intelligent interpretation of 
what the State wants, and an active effort to 
satisfy that desire. They know that if they 
tried for a minute to jam distasteful legisla- 
tion down the throats of Vermont voters 
their own shrift would be short and their 
finish most unhappy. Senator Proctor did 
try to deliver Vermont's delegates to the 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 




Snow- roller at work in front of the Pavilion House, Montpelier; in Vermont the snow is too deep 
to be ploughed aside, so they roll it down to make good winter roads 



National Republican Convention in 1896 
to his friend Tom Reed of Maine. Very 
likely he thought his people would prefer to 
support the big New Englander for the 
presidency. But United States Judge Mar- 
tin and a few other party leaders believed 
that William McKinley best represented the 
political desires of the State, and they proved 
without much difficulty that they were right. 
Senator Proctor is an old man and a political 
philosopher. He shed no vain, tears. He 
was satisfied to know that his people were 
satisfied. Nor did he strain himself to secure 
the election of his son to the governorship. 
He knew the temper of his State. He knew 
that any open attempt to elevate his son, 
contrary to the desire of the people, would 
not only'not succeed, but would react against 



himself. So when Fletcher Proctor ran for 
Governor, the senator, his father, went fish- 
ing. I suspect that he, knowing the quality 
of the boy, — fifty-odd now, but still a boy 
inside, — had no doubt of the result. 

There was opposition within the party. 
Percival W. Clement, the owner of The Rut- 
land Herald (which journal, by the way, 
performs a useful service to the State by 
maintaining an attitude of independent if 
not always quite candid criticism of party 
leaders and party measures), made the race 
against Mr. Proctor as an independent can- 
didate, endorsed by the Democratic party 
of the State. In the contest that followed 
Fletcher Proctor proved himself as good a 
campaigner as his father. 

"How does^it happen that the Proctors, 



WHAT 'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



father and son, hold the highest offices in 
Vermont's gift?" I asked of one of their 
political opponents. 

"Brains," he replied, sententiously. 
"And Governor Proctor's a good fellow — 
an all-fired good fellow. It was hard to work 
against him, when you knew him, and a 
good deal harder to vote against him. A 
good many of us did n't." Maybe that ex- 
plains his majority of fourteen thousand and 
over. Anyway, it explains the undisputed 
fact that his administration has so far been 
the best that Vermont has had in many 
years. 

Where Vermont Leads all the States 

At the session of the Legislature in the 
fall of 1906, under the leadership of Gov- 
ernor Proctor, Vermont, first of all the 
States, followed the lead of the Federal gov- 
ernment in railway and pure-food legisla- 
tion. The railroads sent up big lobbies, 
equipped with all the usual arguments and 
inducements, and, to quote the phrases of a 
native, "They tried their darnedest to beat 
the Governor's bills, but got licked at every 
point." 

The Legislature created practically a new 
railway commission, making it a court of 
record with power to hear and try all com- 
plaints, to summon witnesses and command 
the production of records and documents, 
under pain of fine, or imprisonment for con- 
tempt if need be. In a word, Vermont got 
what President Roosevelt is trying to get for 
the nation, — a railway commission that has 
power to regulate rates and stock issues 
and control the management of the pri- 
vately owned public highways. 

The commission is of three members — 
and these following sections from the law 
creating the commission show how generous 
were the powers conferred upon it; how 
closely in line with the program for the 
national railway commission outlined in the 
speeches and messages of President Roose- 
velt: 

Sec. 2. The Governor shall, during the session 
of the General Assembly of 1906, with the advice 
and consent of the Senate, appoint three persons as 
members of said board, who shall hold their offices 
as follows: one, whose term of office shall end No- 
vember 30, 1908; one whose term of office shall 
end November 30, 1910; and one whose term of 
office shall end November 30, 19 12. 

Sec. 8. Said board shall have the powers of a 



court of record, both at law and in equity, in the 
determination and adjudication of all matters over 
which it is given jurisdiction. It may render judg- 
ments, make orders and decrees and enforce the 
same by any suitable process issuable by courts of 
law and equity in this State. It shall have an offi- 
cial seal on which shall be the words, "State of 
Vermont. Board of Railroad Commissioners. 
Official seal." 

Sec. 23. All summonses issued by said board 
for any party to appear and answer any original 
petition or complaint pending before the board 
shall be served like writs of summons, and at least 
twelve days before the return day thereof. Said 
board shall have jurisdiction on due notice to hear, 
determine, render judgment, and make orders and 
decrees in all matters provided for in the charter 
of any railroad corporation or in the statute of 
this State, and shall have like jurisdiction in all 
matters respecting: 

I. The crossings of one railroad by another. 

II. All highway grade-crossings and signs, sig- 
nals, gates, or flagmen at the same. 

III. The location, sufficiency, and maintenance 
of proper depots or stations. 

IV. The construction and maintenance of 
proper fences, cattle-guards, and farm crossings. 

V. The maintenance of the tracks, frogs, 
switches, gates, signals, culverts, bridges, and 
other structures of wood or iron over openings, 
and rolling stock and equipments so as to accom- 
modate the public and be operated with safety 
and in compliance with law. 

VI. The connections, time and times of con- 
nection, between connecting roads for the accom- 
modation of the travelling public and the trans- 
portation of merchandise. 

VII. The isstce of stock, mortgage bonds, or the 
issue of other securities in order to prevent overcap- 
italization. 

VIII. Tolls and rates when unreasonable or in 
violation of law. 

IX. The manner of operating railroads and 
conducting the business thereof so as to be reason- 
able and expedient and to promote the security, 
convenience, and accommodation of the public 
and to prevent violation of law and unjust discrim- 
ination, usurpation, or extortions. 

X. The organization of railroad corporations 
by voluntary association. 

Appeals from the judgments of the com- 
mission are to the State Supreme Court, but 
the commission's decrees are not to be sus- 
pended during the hearing of such appeals, 
except by a special order of the higher court. 
Railroad superintendents are required to 
report to the commission in writing, imme- 
diately, every accident resulting in loss of 
life or injury to any person, and every col- 
lision and derailment. If such accident re- 
sults in loss of life or serious injury to a 
passenger, such report shall be given by 
telegraph. The provision by which any ten 
freeholders of any county can hale a rail- 
road before the commission for the hearing 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



ii 




Representative D. J. Foster, of the first district, Vermont, who is talked of for Governor 



of complaints makes it impossible for the 
roads to stifle complaint by controlling 
public attorneys, which is the too common 
practice in some other States not a thousand 
miles from Vermont. 

The members of the Vermont Railroad 
Commission are John W. Redmond, of 
Newport, chairman ; Eli H. Porter, of Wil- 
mington, and S. Hollister Jackson, of Barre 
— all good men, of sound common sense and 
some special fitness for their work, and in 



themselves a guarantee that the new rule 
will amply protect the rights of the public, — 
whether passengers, shippers, or investors, 
— without doing injustice to the non-resi- 
dent capitalists who own and manage the 
State's public highways. 

It is worthy of note that Vermont, the 
State that first led the way out of chattel 
slavery, now leads the way out of the newer 
and hardly less galling politico-industrial 
slavery that has been laid upon all the 



12 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




University Place, showing Billings Library and Williams Science Hall in middle of the line 



States by the private owners of the public 
highways of trade and travel. Hats off to 
Vermont! 

Progress That Represents Sound 
Thought 

Governor Proctor's program of progres- 
sive legislation last fall embraced, besides 
railway regulation and pure-food laws lining 
the State up with the ideals of President 
Roosevelt, the creation of a large permanent 
public-school fund, and the regeneration of 
the State's dirt highways. It included a 
plan for higher taxation of corporations, the 
authorization of a nursery for forest seed- 
lings at the State Agricultural College (with 
a view to guiding the reforestation of waste 
lands in the State), the improvement of 
superintendence of public schools, and a 
wide range of other beneficent measures. 
And all of them were written into law. 

In alluding to these measures and others 
of like character as forming the Governor's 
program, I do not mean to indicate that 
Governor Proctor dragooned, or tried to 
dragoon, an unwilling Legislature into pass- 



ing them. In fact, he probably did not walk 
far, if at all, in advance of the desires of the 
majority of the members of the Legislature. 
Vermont (always keenly alert to modern 
development, for all of her apparent geo- 
graphical isolation and the little that the 
rest of the country hears about her) has felt 
for a decade the ferment of new ideas, and 
has been preparing to do just what she did 
in the fall of 1906. The Legislature now in 
office represents, on the whole, Vermont's 
highest grade of citizenship. Its leaders and 
its rank and file alike, with few exceptions, 
came up to the capital resolved to do just 
what they did, and the arguments of special 
interests fell on deaf ears. They were not 
only with the Governor in all his measures, 
but they would have enacted these measures, 
or most of them, without his assistance and 
leadership. These new laws, therefore, are 
not the freak conceptions of a few radical 
politicians. They represent the matured 
thought of the State, and they will be en- 
forced by a strong public sentiment be- 
hind them. 

There again Vermont differs from some 
other well-known States. 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



*3 




Barre High School; Bums statue in the foreground. Barre has the largest Scottish Clan in America 



An Actual Step Toward Reforestation 

I saw the promise of great future gains 
for the State in the little nursery for forest 
seedlings at the State Agricultural College 
in Burlington. There is a growing feeling 
in Vermont that the State ought to buy and 
reforest large tracts of land, once farmed in 
a frugal fashion, now abandoned to scrub 
timber. There are few land-owners who 
can afford to plant pine seedlings on their 
ground and sit down to wait thirty years for 
returns. The State could do this, easily 
enough, and could in this way get a very 
large revenue in later years. At any rate, 
the State is now preparing to show how 
wild land can be reforested, economically 
and profitably; and in this, again, Vermont 
is showing the way to New Hampshire and 
Maine, States which have an equal or even 
greater interest in the reforestation of wild 
lands. Texas and Wisconsin and Louisiana, 
Minnesota and Michigan and Mississippi, 
can all learn something greatly to their ad- 
vantage by looking over this new work of 
the State of Vermont. 

Mr. L. A. Jones, president of the For- 



estry Association of Vermont and botanist 
at the Vermont Agricultural Experiment- 
station, said: 

"Until a few years ago there was no pub- 
lic interest whatever in the subject and no 
practical steps being taken. Foreseeing the 
importance of the right kind of forestry de- 
velopment in a State where two-thirds of 
the acreage is at present growing trees or 
nothing, and where this proportion is bound 
to increase, a number of public-spirited 
persons started the Forestry Association. 
This Association has succeeded in creating 
and directing the public sentiment favorable 
to forestry development in the State. It has 
secured the enactment of fairly satisfac- 
tory laws concerning forest fires and fire- 
wardens. It has secured the appointment 
of a Forestry Commissioner, who is one of 
the members of the State Board of Agri- 
culture, the first incumbent being Hon. 
Ernest Hitchcock, of Pittsford; the present 
one being Hon. Arthur M. Vaughan, of 
Randolph, Vermont. The chief duty of the 
Commissioner is to administer the State fire 
laws; second, to direct the educational cam- 
paign which is carried on largely through 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



15 



the Board of Agriculture meetings. Finally, 
and most important, the Forestry Associa- 
tion secured the passage by the last Legisla- 
ture of a small appropriation, to be con- 
tinued annually for five years, to the Agri- 
cultural Experiment-station for the main- 
tenance of a State Nursery. This nursery 
is to grow and distribute at — as near as 
can be computed — the actual cost of pro- 
duction such seedlings of forest trees as it 
considers best suited for reforestation in 
this State. The Station and the State For- 



"There is no regularly appointed State 
Forester in Vermont as yet, the responsi- 
bility for the leadership in this work resting 
with the Botanical Department of the Uni- 
versity, and a non-resident forestry expert 
(Mr. C. R. Pettis, New York State For- 
ester, who is in charge of the New York 
work in the Adirondacks) is employed as 
consulting Forester. It is hoped that we 
may be able very soon to employ a State 
Forester to carry on the educational and 
experimental work in the State. This will 




Main Street, Montpelier 



estry Commissioner are to furnish along 
with the seedlings such advice and practi- 
cal directions as to the planting and care of 
the same as are needed. This law was 
passed last winter. As a result, requests 
were received this spring for five times as 
many seedlings as the State Nursery was 
able to furnish, and requests are already 
on file for nearly as many as are now on 
hand for distribution next spring. The 
policy will be to distribute these in small 
lots, so that as large a number as may be 
will have an opportunity to experiment with 
their use. 



be the next aim of the Forestry Association ; 
and following that we believe that there 
will be a tendency to set aside certain areas 
of land as State Forest reserves." 

Corporation taxes now pay all the ex- 
penses of the State. There has been no 
direct State tax in Vermont for four years, 
and Governor Proctor tells me there is n't 
likely to be any for some years to come. 
The new law on corporation taxes will, he 
says, increase the State's revenue from that 
source by twenty-five per cent, — a very con- 
siderable addition from a source in many 
States a negligible factor. 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



J 7 



Building Up the Public Schools 

The law creating a permanent public- 
school fund utilizes for a beginning the 
$240,000 returned by the national govern- 
ment to the State in settlement of Civil- 
War claims, the Huntington Fund, and the 
United States deposit money — in all, 
nearly a million and a quarter. It is the 
purpose to create a fund of $2,000,000, the 
income of which shall be used to help sup- 
port public schools in districts where such 
support is most needed. 

Another wise act was that one which ap- 
propriates State money to aid in the cen- 
tralization of rural schools and to equalize 
educational advantages, to the end that no 
child born in Vermont shall be denied full 
educational opportunities. 

The act " to provide for better local super- 
intendence of the public schools" pledges 
liberal State aid to towns that may unite in 
employing a superintendent to guide and 
shape the work of their public schools. I 
cited to Governor Proctor the case of three 
adjoining towns that had hired a Harvard 
man to superintend their schools, the town 
agreeing to pay him $900 a year. The Gov- 
ernor told me that in such case the superin- 
tendent would get an even larger amount 
from the State. The minimum of salary of 
such superintendents is fixed at $1,250. 
Governor Proctor graduated at Amherst 
College. He has been a close student of the 
educational system of Massachusetts, and 
wishes his own State to attain the same high 
standard. 

State Superintendent Stone said that up 
to June 1, 1907, nineteen supervision dis- 
tricts had been formed, making seventy- 
seven towns and five corporations that had 
accepted the provisions of the new super- 
vision law. He added: "This number far 
exceeds our expectations and shows a 
greater acceptance the first year of the new 
system than any other State. 

"Concerning work for the future, I will 
say that our program is to awaken a larger 
interest in industrial education, especially 
along the lines of elementary agriculture for 
the country schools and manual training 
for the cities, and to increase the efficiency 
and patronage as much as possible for our 
professional schools. The new superin- 
tendents have no jurisdiction whatever over 
the parochial schools. Our State law, how- 



ever, requires the parochial schools to give 
their children the same education that is 
offered children in the public schools." 

The Vermont State Grange, the favorite 
organization of the farmers, has done much 
to promote this progressive legislation. It 
is non-partisan, but politicians have learned 
that the grangers know how to get what they 
want for the State, and the grange's influ- 
ence is accordingly large. 



Three Railroad Interests in the State 

Vermont's railroads are in several differ- 
ent sets of hands. The Central Vermont, 
with general offices at St. Albans, in a vast 
station that makes the traveller wonder if he 
is n't drawing into Boston, is operated by 
the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada under 
a long lease. The Boston & Maine and its 
subsidiary Maine Central have a small 
mileage east of the Green Mountain range, 
that divides the State into two nearly equal 
parts. The Rutland road, owned by the 
New York Central, dominates the country 
west of the mountains, and makes that half 
of the State tributary to New York rather 
than to Boston. The Rutland road has a 
connecting line across the mountains from 
Rutland to Bellows Falls on the Connecti- 
cut, fifty-five miles, and we were just ten 
minutes less than three hours in making 
that run, in a train composed of three or 
four freight cars and a mixed car comprising 
a compartment for smokers, one for non- 
smokers, and an express and baggage 
room. 

The Central Vermont is probably out of 
reach of the men who are trying to centralize 
all the New England railroads under one 
management. So, too, is the Rutland road. 
Chances are that Vermont, for most of her 
railroad mileage, will remain outside the 
all-New England system which Mr. Mel- 
len of the New Haven, backed by the 
Pennsylvania, is endeavoring to create. It is 
easier for the State to control several small 
lines than it would be to control one big 
system whose headquarters were outside of 
the State; but the lack of the efficiency and 
close connections that could be got if all 
the Vermont roads were under one control 
must continue to hamper the industrial 
development of the State to some ex- 
tent. 



i8 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Ethan Allen Club, Burlington, Vermont 



Mr. Clement, the Aristocratic Rebel 

Mr. Clement, who has twice been a can- 
didate for Governor in revolt against the 
regular ticket put up by his party, and who 
may again make the race in 1908, formerly 
owned most of the stock of the Rutland 
road. The story is told — though Mr. 
Clement emphatically denies it — that he 
seized a particularly favorable moment in 
the road's history to unload it, at a high 
price, upon his friend, W. Seward Webb, 
who married a daughter of one of the Van- 
derbilts. At any rate, Mr. Webb, finding 
that he had bought an unprofitable property, 
found it convenient to turn it over to the 
Vanderbilts, who incorporated it into their 
own great system, the New York Central, 
where it rests to-day. 

Neither by lowly birth nor by natural 
democracy is Mr. Clement especially fitted 
to appeal successfully for the votes of the 
horny-handed. He is a fighter, and most 
red-blooded men like a fighter; but there his 
vote-winning qualifications appear to end. 
And the list is n't long enough so far to 
make him Governor. 



Building Up the Marble Industry 

Both Clement and Proctor are builders. 
Mr. Clement put his energy into the Rut- 
land road, which has done a valuable devel- 
opment work for the State, if it has n't 
made its present owners rich. Governor 
Proctor succeeded to the management of 
the Vermont Marble Company, taking his 
father's place as president when the latter 
entered the United States Senate. The com- 
pany at that time employed a thousand 
hands. It now hires three thousand, and 
its business has grown in proportion. Fed- 
eral buildings in Vermont are all, or all of 
the later ones, constructed of Proctor marble. 
I have known men so eager to find fault that 
they would insinuate the use of political 
pull in this selection of Proctor marble for 
federal buildings. Such a man would have 
to mourn all by himself in Vermont. People 
up there are properly grateful to the Proc- 
tors for building up a tremendous industry, 
that adds millions to the wealth of Vermont- 
ers every year. And they will tell you that 
Vermont marble is so far superior to other 
American marble that all of the govern- 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



19 




Residence of Dr. W. Seward Webb, Shelburne, Vermont 



ment's buildings ought to be made of it. 
You will notice that city and county build- 
ings in Vermont, when not of brick, are of 
granite. The State is quite as proud of her 
granite quarries and her fine brick clay as 
of her marble-beds. 

Vermont's Foreign Citizens the Best 

But let us return to our politicians. 

Neither Mr. Clement nor Mr. Proctor has 
a labor record that is quite satisfactory to 
the unions. Mr. Clement's is said to be 
"especially bad," from the union stand- 
point, back in the past. The union's crit- 
icism of the Proctors seems based upon the 
fact that the organizers have never been able 
to unionize the workmen in the Proctor 
marble quarries as the workmen of the 
granite quarries of Barre and elsewhere have 
been unionized. The fact is, the Proctors 
take pretty good care of their men. They 
have no trouble. Wages are lower than in 
the unionized granite quarries, but other 
conditions, supplied by a shrewd and un- 
assuming benevolent paternalism (hospital, 
library, schools, a company store that di- 



vides profits among its patrons, etc.) seem 
to have the effect of making the marble- 
workers satisfied with their somewhat lower 
wages. The five or six thousand granite- 
workers get a minimum day's wage of $3, 
for eight hours' work. The union leaders of 
Rutland, which is the capital of the marble 
district, tell me the three thousand work- 
men employed by the Vermont Marble 
Company, the Proctors' property, are di- 
vided into a thousand skilled workmen who 
receive an average of $2.25 a day and two 
thousand unskilled workmen who average 
$1.25 a day. Their day is ten hours long. 
Governor Proctor told me these figures were 
not correct, but he did not give me any fig- 
ures to set in their place. 

The Scotch and a high grade of Italians 
supply most of the labor in the granite 
quarries, whose central point is Barre; in 
the marble quarries most of the foreign 
labor is Hungarian, Polish, and Slavonic. 
The granite quarrymen average $3.50 a day, 
exceeding the minimum wage, and as a re- 
sult Barre is one of the most prosperous 
cities of its size in New England. The Scots- 
men of Barre work hard, draw good pay, 



20 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Senator Dillingham 



live well, play golf on a nine-hole course for 
the sport of it, and are an element that any 
American community would be proud to 
welcome to its citizenship. The foreigners 
at Proctor and in the other marble quarry 
towns of Vermont are little if any less 
industrious, thrifty, and orderly. They send 
to their old homes in Europe hundreds of 
thousands of dollars annually, which brings 
a constant stream of new-comers to join 
them. 



The Swinging of the Pendulum 

Before the Civil War Vermont was mainly 
devoted to manufacturing. In almost every 
town in the State there were from one to a 
dozen factories. The inventive genius of 
the old Yankee stock there had full swing. 
The men of this stock, true to Vermont 
tradition, no sooner heard of a fight than 
they wanted to get into it. They did get 
into it, with the result that the constructive 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



21 



and administrative brains were shot out of 
hundreds of Vermont's little factories. The 
men who had made them did not come back 
from the front — or came back to find con- 
ditions so changed that success in the former 
fields was no longer possible. Farming be- 
came the mainstay of the State, and so con- 
tinued until recent years. During the last 
two decades, and particularly since 1900, 
manufacturing and quarrying have been 
going rapidly up grade once more in Ver- 



lege, and heard of others in use in Vermont 
— a modification of the machine invented 
and first made commercially practicable by 
the late Modestus Joseph Cushman, a young 
Iowan, descendant of the first preacher who 
arrived on this continent. Vermont fruit is 
another big item — apples especially; but, 
like the farmers of Maine and New Hamp- 
shire, those of Vermont have not yet learned 
how to cooperate to market their fruit to the 
best advantage. 




A Vermont country road on a winter night 



mont. The agricultural interest now en- 
gages not more than a third of the people of 
the State; but that third earns more than a 
very much larger number of farmers earned 
a dozen years ago. Vermont farmers are 
specializing — the dairy's milk, butter, and 
cheese form the biggest single item of profit 
for the farms. The business is being put on 
a better, more scientific basis every year. 
Here is where Iowa, Wisconsin, and other 
Middle-Western States had something to 
teach their Eastern neighbors. I found an 
automatic cow-milker installed at the farm 
of the New Hampshire Agricultural Col- 



The fact that there are less than half a 
hundred young men taking the agricultural 
course, as against nearly five hundred in the 
literary, scientific, engineering, and medical 
colleges of the university, indicates that 
farming does not strongly appeal to young 
Vermont. Yet it is possible for a youth who 
means business to go through the four years' 
course at the Agricultural College without 
spending a cent more than he can earn there ; 
and at the end of his course, if he has any 
business capacity, he is practically sure of a 
good job as farm superintendent or as ex- 
pert in some one of the federal government's 



22 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Interior of a marble-quarry at Proctor, showing how the white stone is sawed out in layers, and 

how the workmen reach the pit 



many agricultural activities, at a salary any- 
where from a thousand to fifteen hundred 
dollars a year. It seems to me the boys of 
Vermont are overlooking a good thing right 
here. 



The Sources of the State's Wealth 

After agriculture, which remains the chief 
single industry in Vermont, the granite, 
marble, slate, soapstone, and limestone 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



2 3 



quarries employ the largest number of hands 
of any of the State's activities. The granite 
quarries are located at Barre, which has a 
hundred firms and companies engaged in 
the granite trade: at Montpelier, Northneld, 
Hardwick, Woodbury, South Ryegate, 
Groton, Calais, West Concord, and West 
Danville. Marble quarries are worked at 
Proctor, — the seat of the largest company, 
the Vermont Marble Company, — at West 
Rutland, Middlebury, Dorset, East Dorset, 
Pittsford, and Fowler. Poultney is the chief 
centre of the slate-quarrying. Slate is taken 
out also at Castleton, Fair Haven, Hyde- 
ville, Northneld, Pawlet, West Pawlet, and 
Wells. Soapstone is quarried at Weather- 
field and Chester Depot, and limestone 
quarries are at Isle La Motte. Vermont's 
mineral operations are capable of further 
large development. 

There are one hundred and seventy-five 
creameries and thirty-five cheese factories in 
operation, and twenty-three firms manu- 
facturing farm machinery and implements. 
General machinery and machine specialties 
are made in twenty-two factories, distrib- 
uted among a dozen cities. Fourteen cities 
and towns have iron-foundries. Pulp-mills 
operate in ten places, completing the de- 
struction of the State's forests. Cotton- 
goods manufacturing is done in but four 
cities, but woolen goods and knit goods are 
large industries in Vermont. Bennington is 
the centre of this trade, though fourteen 
other cities and towns share in it. Bellows 
Falls is the State's centre in paper-manu- 
facturing. There are mills also in Putney 
and Bennington, Brattleboro, and half a 
dozen other places. The Estey and Car- 
penter organs are made at Brattleboro, the 
principal city in Southeastern Vermont, and 
one of the pleasantest communities in a 
galaxy of beautiful cities. 

Vermont may not consume much patent 
medicine, but she supplies it in enormous 
quantities to the rest of the country. 
Burlington is the seat of one of the largest 
patent-medicine factories in America, and 
of several smaller plants besides. This trade 
is shared by thirteen other Vermont cities, 
and yields a surprisingly large revenue. The 
new pure food and drug law has to some ex- 
tent hampered this trade. 

Taken altogether, Vermont makes a 
highly creditable showing in manufactures. 
She has plenty of water-power, much of it 



unused, but rarely enough at any one place 
to supply all the power for a large industry. 
Much of her power must be produced by 
steam; and coal, as well as nearly all of the 
raw materials, must be shipped in by rail. 
Remote from the markets and from the 
seaboard, Vermonters overcome these nat- 
ural obstacles by developing a superior 
grade of business ability and working 
harder than their competitors in more fav- 
ored localities. A typical instance of what 
can be done in manufacturing in Vermont, 
by the right kind of a man, is the Lane 
Manufacturing Company, of Montpelier. 
Dennis Lane took the plant nearly fifty 
years ago, when it employed four or five 
men. Away up there, remote from either 
iron or coal mines, and far from tidewater, 
he built up a business in the manufacture of 
machinery that employs one hundred and 
fifty hands and sends its product all over the 
world. Possibly the combination of Irish 
audacity and Yankee shrewdness suggested 
by his name had something to do with it. 
At any rate, he provides one more illustra- 
tion of the adage that it's the man that 
chiefly makes the business, not the location 
or the natural advantages. 

Unlike most other States, Vermont has no 
department of labor, or of industrial super- 
vision, in her State government. There has 
been no demand for it. The growth in this 
line has been too recent, and the conditions 
in Vermont industries are almost without 
exception so favorable to the people em- 
ployed in them that they have not been 
moved to call upon the State for protection. 

Vermont's Finest Product 

Most widely known of all Vermont's 
products, of course, is her maple sugar. 
Doubtless (as the epicure said of the straw- 
berry) God could have produced a finer 
flavor than that of maple sugar, but doubt- 
less God never did. Just why no one has 
ever put it on the market artistically, rated, 
as it should be, the finest of confectionery, 
I was unable to learn, but apparently no one 
has done so. It is sent to market in crude 
form, roughly packed, and sold for a tithe 
of its true value. Mind you, I am not now 
speaking of the gross, plebeian blends of 
glucose and sorghum that masquerade as 
maple sugar, but of the true product of the 
maple-tree. I have n't a doubt that the first 



24 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



firm that sends it to the confectionery 
markets of the big cities, set forth in the 
finery of tin-foil and fancy boxes, will find 
an eager market for it at nearer fifty cents 
a pound than the ten to fifteen cents a 
pound it now brings in the retail markets. 
I asked Mr. M. H. Miller, of Randolph, the 
president of the Vermont Maple Sugar 
Makers' Market, for information about the 
marketing of the product. He said: 

"The maple-sugar makers of the State 
formed this organization for marketing 
their crop. Any member of the association 
can have his product sold through this 
agency. The market now handles about ten 
per cent of the crop. About five million 
trees are tapped, and the income varies 
from one to two million dollars annually. 
The present year the value of the crop is not 
far from two million dollars. It has been a 
large crop of fine quality. About twenty 
thousand farms do more or less in making 
maple sugar. The number of trees to a 
farm varies from one hundred to ten thou- 
sand; the average is around two hundred 
and fifty. Probably not over one-half the 
maple-trees in the State are used in sugar- 
making. For several years the crop has 
been poor, owing to bad weather conditions 
and the forest worm. The farmers had be- 
come somewhat discouraged, but this year's 
crop will do much to encourage and extend 
the industry." 

On the Trail of the Morgan Horse 

It was in pursuit of information about the 
Morgan horse that I found Mr. Joseph 
Battell, the foremost expert on that famous 
breed. Mr. Battell, a plump and ruddy six- 
foot bachelor whose youthful eyes contra- 
dict his iron-gray hair, and who looks like 
the actor "Billy" Crane enlarged two sizes, 
recently deeded to the federal government a 
four-hundred -acre farm near the village of 
Middlebury, to be used as an experiment- 
station in breeding Morgan horses. Ad- 
joining this farm is another tract of six 
hundred acres which will probably go the 
same way in due time. Mr. Battell is 
famous among horsemen for his three- 
volume register of the Morgan horse. He 
was writing an article on Morgans for the 
New York Sun when I found him in his big 
office in the Battell block. There he told 
me how, in 1787, Justin Morgan moved 



from Connecticut to Randolph, Vermont, 
taking with him the horse that sired the 
founder of the Morgan breed. This cele- 
brated animal, afterward known as Justin 
Morgan, for his owner, was foaled in Con- 
necticut, and was taken by Mr. Morgan for 
a debt and brought up to Vermont. His 
ancestry is pretty well cleared up, though it 
was long in question. He undoubtedly was 
a mixture of the thoroughbred and the 
chubby Dutch stock, and very probably 
also of the Arabian breed. A two-year-old 
filly that I saw at the stock farm of the 
State Agricultural College was Arabian all 
over, and the handsomest animal imagi- 
nable. She seemed fairly to spurn the earth, 
to be lighter than the air, and to swim in it 
rather than run like common horses. 

Perhaps the most famous of the Morgan 
sires was the great race-horse Ethan Allen. 
Mr. Cassius Peck, superintendent of the 
buildings and grounds at the Agricultural 
College's experiment-farm, told me the story 
of the Kentuckian who visited Burlington, 
and who, on being shown the Ethan Allen 
monument, observed, with a lively show of 
pleasure, "Well, well, and so that is where 
Ethan is buried. I am very glad indeed to 
see the place, for I have owned some of his 
offspring myself, and I have always greatly 
admired him." 

"Are any of Ethan's line now living here ?" 
I asked, meaning the descendants of the old 
soldier. 

"No," replied Mr. Peck, falling into the 
Kentuckian's own error, "I don't think one 
of them is owned in this neighborhood 
to-day." 

At Mr. Battell's farm in Middlebury I 
saw that filly's sire — a magnificent black 
stallion. Mr. Battell's especial pride and 
hope, however, is a long-legged colt, now 
about three months old, that is descended 
on both sides from Goldsmith Maid, the 
gamest and greatest-hearted mare in trotting 
history. That little colt was valued, a week 
after its birth, at just $5,000. 



What the Morgan Revival Means to 
Vermont 

The point I want to make is, that the re- 
vival of interest in the Morgan horse, en- 
couraged by the government's acceptance 
of Mr. Battell's farm gift, means added in- 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



25 




In the sap-orchard. Vermont's maple-sugar crop is worth $1,500,000 annually 



come to wise Vermont farmers. The Mor- 
gan horse has gone all over the country, but 
he always was and still is a Vermont institu- 
tion. His return to favor should produce a 
new and large inflow of money to the State. 
The Morgan lost favor with the speed- 
breeders when the Hambletonians beat the 
Morgans on the trotting race-track. Breed- 
ers for speed first diverted the Morgan from 
the purpose nature intended him for, then 



deserted him as soon as something faster 
was developed. The Morgan's supremacy 
was and is based upon his superiority as an 
all-purpose horse. He is the kind of horse 
that you can drive sixty miles to-day and 
turn around and drive him back to-morrow 
without doing him any injury. He has not 
only speed, but " bottom," and the courage 
of a bulldog. And nothing handsomer than 
a well-bred Morgan ever walked on four 



26 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




George W. Pierce, Master of the Vermont State Grange 



feet. The defect in the strain was an uncer- 
tainty of temper. Most of the Morgans 
were as kind and true as they were brave 
and enduring. A few of them were ugly; 
and, like the handful of specked apples in 
the barrel, they gave a bad name to the 
whole family. 

The State's Three Colleges 

Middlebury is the seat of one of the 
famous old colleges of New England. If 



you read the excellent article on "New- 
England College Presidents in the South," 
in tjie June number of the New England 
Magazine you must have noticed how 
many of these distinguished educational 
pioneers were graduates of Middlebury 
College, founded in 1800. The State gives 
Middlebury a small appropriation ($2,500) 
against $6,000 for the State University. 
Norwich University, the famous old military 
school over on the eastern border of the 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



27 



State, gets some State help also — $8,500 
in 1905 and $12,000 in 1906. Riding along 
a ridge of hills north of Middlebury, you see 
the Adirondacks rising grandly away to the 
west, and on your right the tree-crowned 
summits of the Green Mountains. In the 
valley nestled the village, the college build- 
ings chiefly conspicuous. I asked Mr. Bat- 
tell why he did not give the breeding-farm 
to the State Agricultural College, instead 
of to the United States Department of 
Agriculture. " Because I am a Middlebury 
man," he replied, "and when I learned that 
the State Agricultural College is run as a 
part of the State University, I did n't pro- 
pose to help build up an institution that is a 
rival of our own college." 

That kind of college loyalty is the key to 
the Vermont character. It is shown in the 
nobly beautiful Billings Library and Will- 
iams Science Hall at the State University, 
gifts of grateful graduates, and in many 
other gifts, of scholarships, equipment, etc. 
In fact, the State University has a plant big 
enough to handle a much larger number of 
students than it has so far been able to at- 
tract to its doors. This is due to the com- 
petition of the other colleges of the State 
and of New England. The State University 
was founded in 1794. Ira Allen, Ethan's 
brother, gave four thousand pounds to help 
it along. College work was suspended dur- 
ing the War of 181 2; soldiers occupied the 
buildings. The first university building 
burned in 1824 and was rebuilt in 1825. 
Lafayette, Washington's old comrade, then 
on a visit to this country, laid the corner- 
stone of the new building. The university 
yard's chief ornament to-day is a fine statue 
of the French soldier of liberty. A medical 
college has lately been added to the univer- 
sity group. Burlington, the metropolis of 
Vermont and the seat of the university, is a 
remarkably handsome, well-groomed little 
city. Its people have a great pride in the 
university and are very kind to the students. 
They find a way for any youngster to work 
his way through if he runs short of funds. 

Extending the Public-School System 

The Western man is surprised to learn 
that in Vermont, a State more than a century 
old, high schools have only recently come 
within the province of free public education. 
There have been many seminaries and 



academies in the State, some of them very 
old, which did the work of high schools, but 
they were not part of the public-school 
system. The State until lately provided 
only primary education free. There was no 
mandatory high-school law, requiring towns 
and cities to provide free high-school edu- 
cation, until 1896. There are to-day 
seventy-five high schools and free academies 
doing high-school work. There are in addi- 
tion seventeen private seminaries and acad- 
emies doing high-school and college prepar- 
atory work. The three colleges — Middle- 
bury, Norwich, and the merely nominal 
State University — crown the State's edu- 
cational system. Three State normal 
schools train Vermont teachers for their 
work. Vermont has not yet accepted her 
duty to provide free college education for all 
her sons and daughters. I believe none of 
the States has yet done so ; in none of them 
does the public-school system include free 
education in college or university. It is the 
practice in all the State colleges and uni- 
versities, I believe, to charge tuition fees. 
State Superintendent Morrison of New 
Hampshire, and State Superintendent Stone 
of Vermont, are urging their State Legisla- 
tures to include free college education in the 
public-school system. They advise also that 
free industrial education be extended as 
rapidly as suitable teachers can be obtained. 
Mr. Stone says : "Accepting the prin- 
ciple that the child is educated for society 
and the State, then there is no logical stop- 
ping-place below a college education. The 
common schools, high schools, and colleges 
are supposed to prepare for life; conse- 
quently, the State has a duty in such prepa- 
ration. It is as essential that there shall be 
scientists in agriculture as that there shall 
be farmers ; as necessary that there shall be 
social and industrial leaders and reformers 
as that there shall be voters. Therefore un- 
restricted opportunities should be afforded 
each to secure that equipment for life for 
which he is adapted. Although it can be 
deferred for a time, the next step beyond 
free high-school advantages is a free uni- 
versity course." 

A Glimpse into the Future of Higher 
Education 

With the leaven thus working among pro- 
fessional educators, and the average citi- 



28 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Machines cutting marble in the Proctor quarries 



zen's advancing conception of the State's 
duty to its members, it is likely that the next 
generation will see not one but many States 
engage to provide for all their youth a com- 
plete free college education, with such 
special industrial education as may be 
sought by students whose chief talent is in 
that direction. Already we perceive the de- 
sire of the larger universities to become 
postgraduate schools, leaving undergraduate 
work for the State universities — in the West, 
at any rate. The educational work of the 
future may possibly be divided along these 
lines, the States undertaking to carry the 
youth through primary, secondary, and col- 
lege courses, and the lavishly endowed 
private universities — Harvard, Yale, Prince- 
ton, Chicago, etc. — affording opportunities 
for more advanced work. 

The Philosophy of Local Option 

Vermont tried the effect of the prohibition 
of the manufacture and sale of liquors, and 
did n't like it. The law was repealed a few 
years ago, and high-license local option 
succeeded it. As a result, most of the "hole- 



in-the-wall" and " boot-leg" drinking- 
places have been wiped out. A considerable 
public revenue is derived from the trade, 
and there is less talk about " legal tyranny" 
in the dry spots. It is thought to be less a 
hardship to be denied liquor by one's im- 
mediate neighbors than by people in distant 
counties, whom you never saw and who have 
no means of gauging your thirst. Where- 
fore, when the "drys" carry a local-option 
election, the "wets" philosophically set 
about laying plans to reverse the result at 
the next test. Burlington, the biggest city 
in the State, continues dry, but Rutland, 
after two years of abstinence, has licensed 
saloons. Barre, having tried local prohibi- 
tion, decided for a wet year. There was 
mourning in the hotel lobbies of Montpelier, 
and some speculation as to whether the 
legislators would find the capital still dry 
in 1908. 

Four towns marked themselves one hun- 
dred per cent in this test in 1906, — Kirby 
and Stannard in Caledonia County, Granby, 
in Essex County, and Holland, in Orleans 
County. In these towns there was not one 
vote for the saloons. 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



2Q 




Yards of the Vermont Marble Company at Proctor 



Some Thoughts Suggested by Figures" 

Now let us look at a few figures : Vermont 
has 9,135 square miles of land area. She 
has 243 hills and mountains more than a 
thousand feet in height. She has 860 li- 
censed automobiles and $50,000,000 of de- 
posits in her savings-banks and trust com- 
panies. There are 145,000 depositors, or 
more than a third of the State's entire pop- 
ulation. The average of the deposits is 
$342. There are 265 public libraries and 
nine daily papers. And by the way, it is not 
the custom in Vermont for politicians to 
carry the newspaper editors in their vest 
pockets, New Hampshire fashion. Ver- 
mont is fond of martial music, and supports 
sixty-five brass bands. The old-fashioned 
Fourth of July is still in favor in the Green 
Mountain State, with the reading of the 
Declaration, the blaring of the bands, and 
all the rest of the time-honored program. 
Religiously, Vermont continues to favor 
Congregationalism, with 210 churches, 
Methodism being second, with 189, and the 
Baptists third, with ninety-six. The Episco- 
palians have sixty-five and the Universalists 



are somehow unexpectedly strong with forty 
congregations. The Roman Catholics have 
eighty-six churches, with seventy priests and 
57,000 adherents. The Christian Science 
church, youngest of all, has made a strong 
start with nine houses, most of them in the 
larger cities. There are twenty-one Seventh 
Day Adventist churches, with 545 communi- 
cants, and they are not, as in Tennessee, 
sent to jail for ploughing on Sunday. 

The Mysterious Fish and Game 
League 

I have gone carefully over the list of po- 
litical organizations in Vermont and do not 
find the Fish and Game League therein 
enumerated. Yet I am freely assured, by 
adherents of the Clement faction in the Re- 
publican party, that "the Fish and Game 
League runs the State." I asked Governor 
Proctor how the Fish and Game League 
got the job of running Vermont politics, and 
he treated the subject lightly. In fact, he 
grinned. He thought there was nothing in 
it. The League was organized to get better 
protection for fish and game, and it holds an 



3° 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



annual dinner to which several hundred 
good fellows sit down. It is the League's 
custom to secure a public man of promi- 
nence to make an address at this dinner. 
President Roosevelt was the League's guest 
when President McKinley was shot. This 
year the club hopes to have the pleasure of 
hearing Governor Hughes of New York. 
The fact may have no special significance, 
but it is a fact that a good many shrewd 
politicians in Vermont believe Governor 
Hughes|,is|nto be the next President of the 



ernor Fletcher Proctor. It is said thatjthe 
senator meditates retirement, and that he 
has not been able, in an impartial survey of 
the State's political tall timber, to see any- 
one that overtops his son. 

Yet it is apparent that the Governor, if 
he wishes to go to the Senate, will not have 
a walkover; for Congressman David J. 
Foster, of Burlington, the Beau Brummel 
of Vermont politics and a very lively cam- 
paigner, authorizes this plain statement: 

"If I am alive I expect to be a candi- 




Fluting Vermont granite columns for the new Union Railroad Station at Washington, D. C. 



United States. Governors Proctor and 
Hughes are jointly interested in plans for 
the tri-centennial celebration of the dis- 
covery of Lake Champlain. The date his- 
torically assigned for the discovery is July 4, 
1609, and of course it will afford a double 
opportunity for inspired oratory. There are 
men in Vermont who will tell you that both 
these good Governors will have to come to 
the celebration from Washington in 1909 — 
one from the White House, the other from 
the Senate Chamber; for there is a growing 
sentiment in Vermont that her fittest man to 
succeed Senator Redfield Proctor is Gov- 



date for the United States Senate when 
there is a vacancy, and I expect that Gov- 
ernor Proctor will support and assist me. 
In the meantime, however, we expect and 
desire that Senator Proctor will continue to 
be our senator for a long time." 

No Help for Idaho and Wyoming 
Here 

It is the habit in the West to say that New 
England is so fortunate as to possess more 
women than men. Vermont — if this be 
true of the rest of New England — is an 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH VERMONT? 



3i 



exception. In 1900 the population of the 
State was 343,641, of whom 175,138 were 
males and 165,503 females. It is therefore 
vain for the surplus bachelors of Idaho and 
Wyoming to call upon Vermont for relief. 
One hundred and fifty years ago Vermont 
was the hunting-ground of Indian tribes ; in 
1900 there were but five red men in the 
State. There were 44, 747 persons of for- 
eign birth, and 826 negroes. In the same 
year there were 169,076 native Vermonters 
living in other States and 248,130 born and 
living in Vermont. Something seems to be 
the matter with the birth-rate among native 
Vermonters, for their total was smaller in 
1900 than in 1890, and in 1890 than in 1880. 
Considered as a whole, Vermonters are 
fairly to be congratulated upon their birth 
in a State so sturdy and so beautiful, and 
upon the qualities they acquire from their 
environment, these being the qualities that 



have carried and still carry them to healthy 
success in all the other States. Unlike New 
Hampshire, again, Vermonters have given 
more attention to developing home indus- 
tries than to inn-keeping, although their 
State is not less attractive to the summer 
visitor than New Hampshire. In this way 
Vermont has perhaps overlooked a large 
revenue which she might enjoy, but she 
does not seem to miss it. 

At the hazard of being called unkind, I 
wish to pursue to its logical conclusion, in 
this final fact, the contrast between the 
aristocratic antecedents and ideals of New 
Hampshire and the democratic origin and 
character of Vermont : the one, in the pres- 
ence of declining fortunes, resorting to the 
taking in of boarders — an honorable occu- 
pation and not to be sneered at; the other, 
of hardier fibre, compelling new fortunes 
from her own soil. 



BAFFLED 

By PAULINE CARRINGTON BOUVE 

Mine enemy harbored a baleful thought 
(With malice and cunning 'twas fraught), 
And he said: "Go forth, and do my will 
With the thing my brain hath wrought." 

Then forth came his messenger, swift and straight, 
To the House of my Soul, and knocked at the gate, 

At the place all clean and fair, 
Where Good and Evil wait. 

But Prayer had entered the sunlit place, 
And stood with her pitying, patient face 

At the white-barred door of the gate 
Where dreams fill the silent space. 

So the reaches of silence were all unstirred, 
And the message of wrath was never heard; 

For Prayer had sealed the door of my soul 
To the Lord of Hate and his evil word. 



And I sent back his herald I had not seen 
(Knowing naught of mine enemy's rage and spleen) 

With a message of peace, a guerdon of love, 
And in my soul's house I am still serene! 



LETTERS OF A WELLESLEY GIRL 



By H. B. ADAMS 




I. ARRIVAL 

"Said Fresh: 'Aller Anfang ist schwer,' 
And her face was dislocated doleful, 
She pulled out great hanks of her hair, 
And shed scalding tears by the bowlful." 
— Adscititious Experiences of Harriet Martineau. 

ELL, here I am at Wellesley. I 
have a room in The Inn, which 
is a sort of a cross between a 
big boarding-house and a lit- 
tle hotel, and is situated near 
the heart of the village. I found I could n't 
get in any of the college buildings. You 
have to make application years and years 
beforehand to get in any of the buildings 
on the grounds. 

Some of the girls had their applications 
in as soon as they were born. I heard of 
one whose grandmother made application 
before her (the girl's) mother was born; 
but I don't believe that; it was evidently a 
story gotten up for Freshman consump- 
tion. 

None or few of the Freshmen live on the 
grounds ; most of them board in the village, 
and good rooms are scarce even there. I 
was very lucky to get in The Inn. Some 
girl had just given up her room on account 
of death in the family, and so they gave it 
to me. 

I room with a nice girl from Brooklyn, 
whose name is Ora Eames. Our furniture 
consists of two single beds, or rather couches, 
which we occupy at night, and during the 
day use for lounges; two desks with nice 
electric lights over them; chairs, rugs, cush- 
ions, and trumpery. 

I think I'm going to like it pretty well, 
but I was awfully homesick yesterday — 
just sat up here alone and blubbered for a 
long time. I wanted to see my good Babbo, 
and have him love me and push my nose and 
call me names. O Daddy, I do love you so 
that — 

But there! I 'd better cut that out. I had 
to quit awhile and sniffle then, but it does n't 
do any good, so I'll brace up. 

One thing certain, this college is wonder- 

3 2 



fully different from the little Convent of St. 
Ursula. That was nice, to be sure, and 
when the sisters would take us in to Paris, 
and we would be allowed to walk in the 
Rue de la Paix and look at the shop-win- 
dows, or ride down the Avenue du Bois de 
Boulogne, and see all the fine equipages, 
we thought we were very nigh heaven. But 
that convent life was so different from this! 
It was so secluded! You were always un- 
der restriction. Every minute of your life 
you felt you were being watched — lovingly, 
of course, and kindly, but still, watched. 

Here the thing that impresses me most is 
the atmosphere of liberty. It's such a Big 
Place, to begin with. The grounds are per- 
fectly enormous, acres and acres of woods 
and meadows, and the main building a 
mile from the road perched upon the edge 
of a pretty little lake, Lake Waban. Then 
all through the woods are the other build- 
ings, — the dormitories, the chapel, the 
president's house, the chapter houses, and 
so on. It is as if one had scattered the build- 
ings of an educational institution around 
through the Bois, or set up a girls' college 
in the Forest of Fontainebleau. 

And the physical bigness and wideness 
and out-of-doorness is "the outward and 
visible sign of an inward and spiritual 
grace," as the prayer-book says. It made 
me feel queer to learn that the teach- 
ers never watch any student, and indeed 
have nothing to do with their conduct. You 
can go to your classes or not, as you please, 
and in fact deport yourself in any way you 
choose, and a teacher never will say a word 
to you. 

And yet the deportment of the students 
is excellent. They have a system they call 
" student government." The students elect 
their own president and other officers each 
year. These in turn appoint the heads of 
the various houses and the proctors and so 
on. It does n't take long, they say, for a 
Freshman who is disposed to think she can 
do as she pleases to find out that to be ta- 
booed and reproved by her own fellows is 



LETTERS OF A WELLESLEY GIRL 



33 



a great deal more to be dreaded than to be 
reprimanded by a teacher. 

I think this system must be beautiful, and 
it is so American. I feel a good deal more 
like a United States girl than I did over 
there in France, tagging around with a nun. 

But I must tell you about my arrival and 
things. 

It was raining when I got here. I 've been 
told since that that is one of theWellesley in- 
stitutions; it always rains when new girls 
come. Still, I don't believe everything I 
hear, Daddies. 

The Christian Association appoints up- 
per-class girls to meet every train and tell 
the new arrivals where to go. A nice girl 
met me and took me to The Inn and made 
me feel quite comfy. 

The first thing we had to do was to go to 
College Hall (that's the name of the main 
building) and register. Quite a bunch of us 
went from The Inn together, and took our 
first long walk through the grounds to the 
College. When we got there we found a 
huge table in the hall, and a line of girls 
waiting. I dropped into the line, and pretty 
soon was at the table. I was handed a card 
to fill out, with the injunction, ' 'Last name 
first, please." 

After this we looked on the wall, where 
was posted the scheme of the examinations. 
Mine — for you know I had to take one in 
mathematics — came at nine the next morn- 
ing. 

All that night until midnight I crammed 
up on my algebra. What in the world are 
young ladies expected to know algebra for, 
can you tell me ? I hate it. The buzzy old 
letters all get mixed up and infest my mind 
like a swarm of gnats. Finally I went to 
bed, with the alphabet, hashed up with 
signs and figures, chasing itself around 
through the halls and chambers of my small 
brain. A case of alphabetitis — or alge- 
britis. 

Next morning a little before nine I was 
at the appointed room in College Hall with 
some twenty other frightened looking 
mothers' pets. A teacher, whose insides 
were apparently of brass, sat in a chair 
before us. As the bell rang for nine we were 
each given two blue books to write in and 
a printed slip containing the questions. 
Two hours and a half, we were told, were 
at our disposal during which we might try 
to answer their foolish questions about 



roots, powers, amazingly shaped pieces of 
land, and terribly remote trees. I tore 
away at it as hard as I could, and succeeded 
in sating their morbid curiosity by a com- 
plete set of answers. Whether they were 
right or not I could n't say. I can always 
get an answer, but right answers are another 
story. 

After it was over two or three of the girls 
and I walked around the grounds a little and 
compared notes on how we had treated 
some of the questions. And we looked at 
things. It is certainly a beautiful spot. 
Across the little lake is Mr. Hunne well's 
place. He's a rich man who has laid out 
his grounds sloping down to the lake in the 
style of an Italian garden. 

One of the girls with us had a sister who 
had graduated here. I have been told since 
that the "Girl with a Sister" is a Freshman 
institution. She said there was a tradition to 
the effect that the man who had owned the 
place across the lake sighed for a beautiful 
but icy instructor in the college; she said 
him nay always ; so, as he could not get her, 
and she being in the mathematical depart- 
ment, he laid out his grounds in rhomboids 
and trapezoids and Euclidian shapes, so 
that through these friendly figures his ten- 
der passion might always greet the fair and 
adored one's eyeball whene'er she directed 
the same out of her window in College 
Hall. Imagine any one being in mathe- 
matics and in love at the same time! 

We saw a number of curious looking 
little one-story houses and asked what they 
were. The Girl with a Sister lowered her 
voice and said: 

"They're the Society houses, where the 
secret societies meet. My sister said we 
were never to mention them nor ask about 
them." 

And a great awe fell upon us. What 
marvels and mysteries were concealed there! 
They were funny, pudgy little places 
though, most of them. One of them looked 
like a little tool-house. 

Well, in due time I received word that I 
had passed — a little slip reading as follows: 

Miss Edna Brown is notified that she has 
passed the entrance examination in algebra. 
[Signed] Ellen Fitz Pendleton, 

Dean of Wellesley College. 

It removed a great load from my chest, 
Daddies. I could have hugged Ellen Fitz 
Pendleton. But I did n't. 



34 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



The Christian Association reception was 
Saturday night— last night. We all went 
to that and heard several speeches and 
were introduced to millions of girls, and 
came home tired to death. 

To-day I've been out walking, for the 
weather is fine, and the country around 
here is marvellously beautiful. 

I think I'm going to like it, but wish you 
were here. If you were I'd eat you up. 
As you are not here I will send you three 
kisses and four hugs. I got your letters. 
You 're nice to write such good ones. Oceans 
of love. Edna - 



II. 
CLARICE'S VENGEANCE 

"'O bring him,' said the awful Turk, 
'Unto my palace door, 
And I'll run him through the tum-tum 

And I'll waller in his gore.' 
So they brought him to His Turklets, 
And the ground he fell and kissed; 
And the Turk he went up to him 
And he slapt him on the wrist." 

— Ballad 0} the Rug. 

Marguerite's room in College Hall was 
full of girls. Giris sat on the three chairs; 
girls sat on those girls; girls stood in heaps 
in corners and lay in drifts on the couch. 
And they all talked at once. 

How do you like that for a beginning, 
Babbo? Doesn't it sound Dickensy and 
bookish ? 

You've told me to write you about every 
thing that interests me, and to write as well 
as I can every time, and so I'm going to tell 
you about the interestingest (that's from 
Carlyle) event that has happened in a long 
while. I call it " Clarice's Vengeance." 
Don't you think it a striking title ? Some- 
thing like " Lady Audley's Secret " ? — No ? 

Well, revnawng a noo mootawng, as 
Skootsy the French teacher says, and so 
back to the lammies in Marguerite's room. 

You must know that the nervous climax 
of the college year comes when new mem- 
bers are about to be chosen for the various 
secret societies. You must know also, 
though you may not — for you're fright- 
fully stupid about college affairs, Babbo — 
shame on you! and your daughter so bright, 
too ! — that no one can even be proposed 
for one of these secret societies unless she 's 
up in her studies. That seems hard, too, 



for just heaps and heaps' of girls flunk who 
are the very nicest girls in school. But it's 
no use! They cannot enter in. It 's Welles- 
ley law, and the laws of the Medes and Per- 
sians were soft rubber compared with the 
laws of Wellesley. 

And then, of all the girls who get good 
marks, or are "unconditioned," as we say, 
only a few can be chosen to be a Z. A. or a 
Phi Sig, or a Shakespeare, and so on. For, 
firstly, the membership of these societies is 
limited; and "toothly," as the colored 
preacher said, one blackball will keep out 
any one. And thereby hangs a tale ("A 
blackball with a tail!" cries Babbo. "Look 
out for your mixed metaphors, Edna!"). 

But back, on back to our mootawngs! 
The girls in Marguerite's room — there 
were only seven of us, after all ; I only wrote 
that first sentence because it sounded so 
fine — were discussing the new crop; i.e., 
the possible candidates. We got along all 
right until we came to Belle McCrea's name. 
Then we split. Some of us wanted her very, 
very much. But Clarice Matthews just put 
her foot down and said she would n't have 
her, and would blackball her if her name 
was proposed. The talk flew fast and furi- 
ous, but Clarice stood firm and to all ap- 
pearances Belle's case was hopeless. 

Now Clarice is one of the dearest girls 
in the world, and probably the most influ- 
ential girl in our set. She is clever, her 
father is a prominent lawyer in Boston, she 
is as handsome as a Gibson picture, and one 
of the kindest and sweetest persons I ever 
met. I could not imagine why she was so 
set against Belle, whom nearly every one 
likes. 

Belle lives in Denver, and her father is 
distressingly rich, owns a whole arm-load 
of banks and mines and things, and Belle, 
being his only daughter, is the peculiar ap- 
ple of his eye. She acted rather foolish 
when she came to this college : rented three 
rooms at The Inn, and had trunks full of 
hoity-toity clothes and picture-hats and all 
that sort of thing, and so the girls cut her at 
first. When everybody goes around bare- 
headed and in simple shirt-waists and skirts, 
it is rather jarring to have some girl come 
and begin to hoist beplumed hats to the 
breeze and deck herself in ermine and similar 
costly array. But Belle has sense and soon 
saw what was the matter. So she buried 
her gay frippery in her trunks and got down 



LETTERS OF A WELLESLEY GIRL 



35 



to the level of the rest of us. I was thrown 
with her a great deal, and soon came to be 
amazingly fond of her. In fact, we became 
chums. And a fairer, higher-minded body, 
I never knew. She was high-mettled, 
though, as well; proud, sensitive, and in- 
clined to be self-conscious. You have often 
told me that such a disposition invariably 
meets trouble, and Belle certainly finds her 
share. 

So there you have the dramatis persona 
of my little comedy — which came very 
near being a tragedy. 

When I went to bed that night, after the 
meeting in Marguerite's room, I was in- 
tensely unhappy. I suspected how much 
Belle set store on being admitted into our 
society, and I dreaded the consequences 
when she should find out that she had been 
turned down. So I got up and thought I 
would read myself sleepy, get my mind off 
any absorbing worriment. 

But, alas ! instead of diverting my thoughts 
into another channel, I found them carried 
along in the same course, whirled on in a 
tumultuous rapid, a very cataract; for I 
picked up a book on my desk, some book 
that Belle had left there that afternoon, and 
as I did so a letter fell out and fluttered to 
the floor. I stooped to get it and replace 
it, but, as it came under the light, my eye 
was caught by the name of our own society. 
To save my life I could n't help reading on, 
although you know, Babbo, I'm not cad 
enough to read other people's letters under 
any ordinary circumstances. 

It was to Belle, from her mother, and oh, 
it was the sweetest letter I ever hope to see! 
It was so tender and loving and anxious, 
and it was all about Belle's joining our so- 
ciety. The poor girl had evidently opened 
her heart to her mother — for of course 
she would have had her tongue torn out 
rather than intimate to any of us that she 
wished to belong. 

" You say, dearest," the letter ran, "that 
everything shall stand or fall by this, and 
that if you are rejected you will leave 
the college at once. You must not do this. 
I want my darling to be brave and strong. 
I know how sensitive you are, and how 
deeply you can feel, but you will meet many 
disappointments in this life, and must learn 
to bear them nobly." 

And so the letter went on. Oh, the dear- 
est letter! I just sat there and cried. What 



must it mean to have a mother! — There! 
Babbo, I've hurt you! But never mind! 
Though I have no dear mother, I have you, 
who are both mother and father to me. 

Well, I sat there and cried myself to 
sleep, and when I awoke it was dawn in the 
window, and my electric light looked sickly 
yellow, and I was all cold and creepy. I 
crawled into bed to get warm, and was no 
sooner snuggled up together than Clarice 
came in, all in her nighty, and got into bed 
with me. <5w&2-l \ 

"I want to tell you, Edna/' she said, 
"why I opposed Belle McCrea," and she 
told me. I won't go over it all, Babbo; it 
was a schoolgirl's pique. She thought Belle 
had snubbed her. And then her father was 
mixed up in it some way. It seems Belle's 
father had gotten crossways with Clarice's 
father in some business matter, and the lat- 
ter felt very bitter. From that as a begin- 
ning the two girls had grown more and more 
cold and estranged, being proud as two 
Lucifers, and now Clarice's opportunity 
had come. 

I did n't say anything, but just rolled out 
of bed and got that letter and gave it to 
Clarice. She read it, and then more tears. 
But I could see it had done for Clarice, and 
she was awfully ashamed of herself, though 
she did n't say much. 

In some way it leaked out — I don't 
know how it is, but unpleasant things al- 
ways do leak out — that Belle was not to 
be chosen. One of the other societies 
promptly voted to ask her. But Belle de- 
clined. ,She had evidently made up her 
mind that if she could n't be admitted into 
ours she would go into none. My, but she 
was pale and silent for those two days! 
She absolutely cut me, and walked around 
like a ghost, going straight from her classes 
to her room and speaking to no one. 

Then we had our final meeting, and who 
should propose Belle's name but Clarice! 
Everybody was petrified — but delighted. 
Right away I went to Belle's room. When 
I entered she looked up at me, and her eyes 
were red, and when she saw me her face 
went white as death. I did n't waste any 
time, but leaped upon her like one of Nero's 
lions in the arena upon a succulent martyr, 
and simply ate her up. 

I could not tell her, in so many words, 
that she was chosen — we are. not permitted 
to tell a candidate; she must receive official 



36 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



notice through the mail, — but she could 
see well enough from my manner what the 
truth was. There is more than one way to 
impart information. 

Then more goo and high strikes and 
other girlsterousness (noun formed in an- 
alogy to boisterousness, wherewith to fill 
up a sad lacuna in the English idiom). 

This letter is spinning out worse than one 
of your briefs, and I must hasten to the one- 
hundred-and-eighthly-and-lastly. 

Last scene. The Initiation. That I can- 
not describe, of course, under penalty of 
being sawn asunder and otherwise annoyed 
by my co-conspirators. But when it was all 
over and we were sitting around the great 
room of our chapter-house, uprises Miss 
Clarice Matthews, in manner as if to speech- 
ify. 

Everybody was mouse-still and rather 
frightened. 

Clarice stepped out into the centre of the 
room, and began with a little catch in her 
throat: 

"I want to say something, with the per- 
mission of you all. Others will talk about 
what I did, and so I want to tell it my own 
self. I want to say to Miss Belle McCrea 
that when her name first came up I opposed 
it. I did this from conscientious motives. 
I thought she was stuck up, and had 
snubbed me, and was not the kind of a 
girl we wanted in our society. I said this 
before you all, except her. And doubtless 
she has heard of it. And now, before you 



all, I want to acknowledge that I was wrong, 
that I have been stupid and vain, and that I 
think she is the sweetest girl in this school, 
and I ask her forgiveness." 

And with that she walked over to where 
Belle was sitting and held out her hand. 
My, but she looked just perfectly grand, 
Babbo, as she swept across that room, white 
as chalk, her head up just like a fine horse, 
and her big blue eyes set firm as flint! 
Every girl in the room was holding her 
breath. 

When she came up to Belle, the latter just 
flung her arms about her neck and buried 
her face in Clarice's bosom and — well — 
general wail and goo all around. 

They are the best friends in the world 
now, and oh, I am so happy! Belle never 
knew about the letter. It 's all straightened 
out and she asks no questions about how it 
came. 

There! I suppose all this strikes you as a 
tempest in a very small teapot, and not 
much of a story for such a portentous title. 
But it interested me, Babbo, and you told 
me to write all such things to you. Maybe 
it will seem very silly when I get to be a 
thousand years old and have hundreds of 
great-grandchildren and all that, but just 
now it 's very real. And you cannot imagine 
how glad I am that Belle and Clarice are 
friends. 

And so, good-night! Eighty hugs and 
several bites from your 

Daughter. 



[To be continued.] 




OLD KING SPRUCE 



By HOLMAN F.lDAY 



VIII. THE OLD SOUBUNGO TRAIL 




ARRY GORMAN," the woods- 
man's poet," whose songs are 
known and sung in the camps 
from Holeb to Madawaska, 
was with Rodburd Ide's in- 
coming crew. His three most notable lyrics 
are these: "I feed P. I.'s on tarts and pies;" 
"Bushmen all, your ear I call until I shall 
relate;" and "The Old Soubungo Trail." 

When Rodburd Ide's hundred men met 
up with the Honorable Pulaski D. Britt's 
hundred men at the foot of Pogey Notch, 
Larry Gorman displayed a true poet's ob- 
liviousness to the details of the wrangle be- 
tween principals. He did n't understand 
why Pulaski Britt, blue with anger above 
his grizzled beard, and "Stumpage John" 
Barrett, mottled with rage, should object so 
furiously when Rodburd Ide's girl took 
away the tatterdemalion maid of the Skeets, 
nor did Larry ask any questions. If 
this be the attitude of a true poet, there 
was evidently considerable true poetry in 
both crews, for no one appeared to be espe- 
cially curious as to the why of the quarrel. 
However, the imminence of a quarrel was a 
matter demanding woodsmen's attention. 
It might have been noted that Poet Gor- 
man cut the biggest shillalah of any of 
them. And while he rounded its end and 
waited for more formal declaration of hos- 
tilities he lustily did the solo part of "The 
Old Soubungo Trail," with a hundred 
hearty voices to help him on the chorus: 

"I left my Lize behind me; 

Oh, she won't know what to do. 
I left my Lize for the Old Town guys, 

And I left my watch there, too. 
I left my clothes at a boardin' -house, 

I reckon they're for sale, 
And here I go, at a heel-an'-toe 
On the old Soubungo trail. 
SoM-bung-o\ 
Bungo 
'Way up the Bungo trail." 

Spirit, rather than melody, characterized 



the efforts of these wildwood songsters. The 
Honorable Pulaski Britt, who did n't like 
music anyway and was trying to talk in an 
undertone to Timber-baron Barrett, swore 
a deep bass obligato. 

He did not take his baleful gaze from 
D wight Wade, who had gone apart and was 
leaning against the mouldering walls of the 
Durfy hovel. 

"You had your chance to block their 
game and you did n't do it, John. You 
make me sick!" muttered the belligerent 
Britt. "You've let that college dude scare 
you with threats and old Ide champ his 
false teeth at you and back you down. You 
don't get any of my sympathy from now on. 
I had a good plan framed. You knocked it 
galley-west by poking yourself into the way. 
They've got the girl. They'll use her against 
you. You can fight it yourself after this." 

Barrett stared uneasily from one crew to 
the other. 

"It would have been too tough a story to 
go out of these woods," he faltered. "Two 
crews ste'boyed together by us to capture a 
State pauper." 

"A story of a woods rough-and-tumble, 
that 's all!" snorted Britt. "And those dogs 
would n't have known what they were 
fightin' about — and would have cared less. 
And while they were at it I could have taken 
the girl out of sight! You spoiled it! Now 
don't talk to me! You go ahead and see if 
you can do any better." He tossed his big 
hand into the air and whirled away, snuff- 
ing his disgust. 

Larry Gorman, having peeled a hand- 
hold on his bludgeon, was moved to sing 
another verse: 

"I ain't got pipe nor 'backer, 

Nor I ain't got 'backer-box. 
I ain't got a shirt and my brad-boots hurt, 

For I ain't a-wearin' socks. 
But a wangan 's on Enchanted 

Where they've got them things for sale, 
And I don't give-a-dam what the price it am 

37 



38 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



On the old Soubungo trail. 
Sou-bung-o ! 
Bungo! 
'Way up the Bungo trail." 

Sturdy little Rodburd Ide, magnate of 
Castonia, was straddled in the middle of the 
trail to the south. His head was thrown 
back and his mat of whiskers was jutted 
forward with quite an air of challenge. To 
be sure, he did not exactly understand as yet 
the full animus of the quarrel. He had 
heard his partner Dwight Wade announce 
on behalf of Honorable John Barrett that 
the latter proposed to educate the girl pro- 
tege of the Skeet tribe. He had noted that 
the timber-baron did not seem to warm to 
the announcement in a way that might be 
expected of the true philanthropist. 

Tommy Eye's astonishing declaration 
from the house-top that the timber-mag- 
nates of Jerusalem township were proposing 
to marry the girl off to Colin MacLeod, boss 
of Britt's Busters, and that, too, in spite of 
MacLeod's lack of affection, had some 
effect in enlisting Ide's sympathies and in- 
terference. But his daughter's spirited 
championship of the poor girl was really 
the influence that clinched matters with the 
puzzled Mr. Ide. 

"Rodburd," declared the Honorable 
Pulaski, approaching him on the contemp- 
tuous retreat from Barrett, "you've gone to 
work and stuck your nose into matters that 
are no concern of yours whatever. Your 
man Wade, there, instead of keeping on to 
your operation on Enchanted, has been 
spending his time beauing that girl around 
these woods and stirring up a blackmail 
scheme. I'm telling you as a friend that 
you 'd better ship him. He 's going to make 
more trouble for you than he already has. 
He is n't fit for the woods. / found it out 
and fired him. Do the same yourself, or 
you '11 never get your logs down and through 
the Hulling Machine." 

"Do you mean that you're going to fight 
him on the drive on account of your 
grudge?" demanded Ide. 

"I don't mean that," blustered Britt. 
"It's the man himself who will queer you." 

"I don't believe it," replied Ide, stoutly. 
"There are some things goin' on here that I 
don't understand the inside of up to now; 
but as for that young man, I picked him for 
square the first time I laid eyes on him at 
Castonia, and now that I've had him looked 



up by friends of mine outside, I know he's 
square. You can't break up our partner- 
ship by that kind of talk, Britt. Now own 
up ! What is the nigger in the woodpile here, 
anyway ?" The little man was still unbend- 
ing, but his eyes snapped with curiosity. 

But the Honorable Pulaski's shifty eyes 
dodged the inquiring stare of the Castonia 
man. The view down the tote-road in the 
direction in which Nina Ide and Kate Arden 
had disappeared under convoy of Chris- 
topher Straight seemed to be welcomer pros- 
pect than that frankly inquisitive face. And 
the view down the trail also suggested a 
safer topic for conversation. 

"I believe in indulgin' a girl's whims, 
Rod, but this is a time when you've let 
yourself go too far. That Lucivee kitten that 
your daughter has lugged off home set this 
fire that we've been fightin' up here. She 
set it maliciously in the face and eyes of 
Sheriff Rodliff and myself. She 's the worst 
one of the whole lot — and as a plantation of- 
ficer you know the Skeets and Bushees pretty 
well. Are you goin' to let your girl take a 
critter like that back home with her?" He 
noted a flicker of consternation in the little 
man's eyes. "Now don't be a fool in this 
thing. Let a half-dozen men run after that 
girl and fetch her back. She don't belong in 
any decent home. John Barrett and I have 
arranged a plan to take care of her and keep 
her out of mischief." 

But again the timber-magnate's eyes 
failed to meet the test of Ide's frank stare. 

"I've known you a good many years, 
Pulaski," said he. "I've done a lot of busi- 
ness with you, and you can't fool me for a 
minute. You 've been into a milk-pan, for I 
can see cream on your whiskers." 

"I'm only warnin' you not to harbor a 
criminal," stormed the other. His wrath 
slipped its leash once more. The presence 
of Dwight Wade, his very silence, seemed 
tacit proclamation of victory and the boast 
of it. "The girl belongs back here, and 
we 're goin' to have her back. If your men 
don't fetch her, mine will." 

But Ide set his short legs astride a little 
more solidly. 

"As first assessor of the nearest planta- 
tion, I can handle the State pauper business 
of these parts, and do it without help," 
he said. 

"You mean that meddlin' girl of yours is 
runnin' it," taunted Britt. 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



39 



In his heart the fond father realized the 
force of the insinuation, and knew why he 
was blocking that trail so resolutely. A 
mother bear would have shown no more de- 
termination in closing the retreat of her 
cubs. 

"If for any reason that I don't under- 
stand as yet you want the guardianship of 
that girl, Britt," he declared, "come down 
any time you want to and get your rights 
legally. But just now I 'm tellin' you again 
that you and your men can't get past here. 
And if you do go you'll go with cracked 
heads." 

And once more Pulaski D. Britt substi- 
tuted oaths for action. 

Stamping back toward his men, he saw 
Tommy Eye squatting like a jack-rabbit on 
the top of the Durfy camp. That guileless 
marplot offered fair target for the ire that 
he had been shooting at the world in general. 
"MacLeod!" he bawled to the boss, who 
had not yet pulled himself together after 
that final flash of scorn from the eyes of 
Nina Ide. "Pull that drunken loafer off 
that roof and yard the men back to camp." 
"I'm discharged out of your crew, Mr. 
Britt," squealed Tommy, a quaver of ap- 
prehensiveness in his voice. "I've dis- 
charged myself. I've told the truth about 
what you was tryin' to do. I ain't fit for 
you to hire." 

It was not the unconscious satire of the 
statement that put a wire edge on the Hon- 
orable Pulaski's temper. It was Tommy 
Eye's rebelliousness, displayed for the first 
time in a long life of utter subservience. 

"You won't be fit for anything but bait 
for a bear-trap ten minutes after I get you 
back to camp," bellowed the tyrant. "Mac- 
Leod, get that man down!" 

"Don't you want to hire a teamster, Mr. 
Ide?" bleated Tommy, crawfishing to the 
peak of the low roof. " You know what I be 
on twitchro'd, ramdown, or in a yard. You 
don't. find my hosses calked or shoulder- 
galled." He hastened in nervous entreaty. 
"You hire me, Mr. Ide. I never had a 
team sluiced yet. You know what I can do 
in the woods." 

The plaintiveness of the frightened man's 
appeal touched Wade. He realized the 
weight of misery this pathetic turncoat 
might expect thereafter at the hands of 
Britt and his crew of Busters. MacLeod 
was advancing toward the ladder that con- 



ducted to the roof, his sullen face lighting 
with a certain amount of satisfaction. Wade 
put himself before the ladder. 

"Hirin' men out from under is n't square 
woods style, Tommy," said Ide, shaking his 
head. 

"But I'm discharged, Mr. Ide. I've dis- 
charged myself." 

"The man is n't a slave," protested Wade. 
"He is the only man I've found in these 
woods up to now with honest courage 
enough to stand up for what's right, Mr. 
Ide. I don't believe in abandoning him to 
those who propose to make him suffer for it." 
"Up to now, you dude, you've done 
about everything that should n't be done in 
the woods," cried Britt; "but there's one 
thing you can't do, and that's take a man 
out of my crew." 

"It's an unwritten law, Wade," protested 
his partner. "It isn't square business to 
meddle with another operator's crew." 

"When a case like this comes up it's time 
to change the law, then," declared Wade, 
with savageness of his own, the menacing 
proximity of MacLeod acting on his anger 
like bellows on coals. 

"I can't afford to be mixed into anything 
of the sort," persisted Ide. 

"And nobody but a fool would try it, Rod. 
I've warned you to get rid of him. You can 
see for yourself now! He don't fit. He's 
protectin' firebugs, standin' out against 
timber-owners' interests, and breakin' every 
article in the code up here." 

"And I'm likely to keep on breaking the 
remarkable set of rules of conduct that ap- 
pear to obtain north of Castonia," cried the 
uncomfortable young iconoclast. For a 
moment his flaming eyes dwelt on the face 
of the Honorable John Barrett, and that 
gentleman, who had been wondering just 
what shaft his own recalcitrancy would 
next draw from this champion of the op- 
pressed, looked greatly perturbed. "Mr. 
Ide, do you forbid me to hire this man?" 

"N— no," admitted his partner, rather 
grudgingly. 

"Then you 're hired, Eye." Wade looked 
up and answered the gratitude in Tommy's 
eyes by a nod of encouragement. "Come 
down, my man, and get into our crew. 
You've acted man-fashion and I'll back 
you up in it." 

"Let it stand — let it stand as it is," 
whispered Barrett, huskily, clutching at the 



4Q 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



arm of Britt as that furious gentleman 
surged past him. "If we tackle the young 
fool now he 's apt to blab all he knows about 
me. The thing rests in a ticklish place. 
Handle it easy." 

"I'll handle it to suit myself," stormed 
Britt, yanking himself loose. "You sit back 
there, if you want to, and play dry nurse to 
your twins — your family scandal on one 
arm and your Governor's boom on the other. 
But when it comes to my own crew and my 
private business, by the lord Harry, I'll 
operate without your advice." 

He began to call on his men, rallying 
them with shrill cries. He ordered them to 
surround the camp and take the rebel. In 
the next breath he bade MacLeod to go up 
the ladder and pull Tommy down. 

"Poet" Larry Gorman, who had been 
gradually edging near the spot that he had 
sagely picked as the probable core of con- 
flict, set himself suddenly before Colin 
MacLeod as the boss advanced toward 
Wade with a look in his eye that was blood 
lust. MacLeod had a weatherbeaten ash 
sled-stake. 

"Sure, and a gent like him don't fight 
with clubs," said Gorman. "We've all 
heard about his lickin' ye once, and man- 
fashion, too! Now go get your reputation. 
Start with me." The redoubtable bard 
poked his shillalah into MacLeod's breast 
and drove him back suddenly. At this over- 
ture of combat the men for Enchanted came 
up with a rush. They met the Busters face 
to face and eye to eye. 

"We're all ax-tossers together, boys," 
cried Gorman. "Ye know me and ye've 
sung my songs, and ye know there 's no 
truer woodsman than me ever chased beans 
round a tin plate. Now, Britt's men, if ye 
want to fight to keep a free man a slave 
when he wants to chuck his job, then come 
and fight. But may the good saints put a 
cramp into the arm of the man that fights 
against the interests of woodsmen all to- 
gether." 

Under most circumstances even such a 
cogent argument as this would not have 
stayed their hands. But coming from Larry 
Gorman, author of "Bushmen all," it made 
even the Busters stop and think a moment. 
And when MacLeod was first and only in re- 
newing hostilities, — obeying Britt's insistent 
commands, — Gorman again held him off 
at the end of his bludgeon and shouted: 



"O my cock partridge, you're only brisk 
to get into the game because you're daffy 
over a girl and would wipe your feet on 
Tommy Eye or any other honest woodsman 
to polish your shoes for the courtin' of her." 

It was a taunt whose point the Busters 
realized and relished: It was even more 
cogent than Larry's first appeal. Some of 
the men grinned. All held back. But for 
MacLeod it was the provocation unforgive- 
able. He drew back his arm and swept his 
stake at Larry's head. That master of 
stick-play warded and leaped back nimbly. 

"Fair, now! Fair!" he cried. "They're 
all lookin' at us and there can't be dirty 
work." Gorman's face glowed, for he had 
won his point. His wit had balked a general 
combat. His massing fellows had tacitly 
selected him as their champion. He had 
put the thing on a plane where the Busters 
were a bit ashamed to participate. They 
turned their backs on Britt in order to watch 
the duellists more intently. They knew that 
Larry Gorman was vain of two things, — his 
songs and his stick-swinging. 

"What say ye to waitin' till your shoulder 
ain't so stiff?" he inquired, with pointed 
reference to the injury MacLeod had re- 
ceived at the hands of Wade. His mock 
condolence drove Colin to frenzy. He drove 
so vicious a blow at the bard that when the 
latter side-stepped the boss staggered 
against the side of the camp. 

"But sure I can make it even," said 
Larry, facing him again without discom- 
posure; "for I'll sing a bit of song for you 
to dance by." 

The merry insolence of this brought a 
hoarse hoot of delight from both sides. And 
pressing upon his foe so actively that the 
crippled MacLeod was put to his utmost to 
ward thwacks off his head and shoulders, 
this sprightly Cyrano of the kingdom pf 
spruce carolled after this fashion: 

"Come, all ye good shillaly men, come, lis-ten 

unto me. 
Old Watson made a walkin'-cane and used a 

popple-tree. 
The knob it were a rouser — a rouser, so 't was 

said — 
And when ye sassed old Watson he would 

knock ye on the head." 

MacLeod got a tap that made his eyes 
shut like the snap of a patent cigar-cutter. 

"Chorus!" exhorted the lyrist. And they 
bellowed jovially: 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



4i 



"Knick, knock 
Hickory dock, 
And he'd hit ye on the head!" 

Larry leaped back, whirled his stick so 
rapidly that its bright, peeled surface seemed 
to spit sparks, and again got over the boss's 
indifferent guard with a whack that echoed 
hollowly. 

MacLeod was too angry to retreat. He 
was too angry to see clearly, and his brain 
rung dizzily with the blows he had received. 
His injured shoulder ached with the vio- 
lence of his exertions. But his pride kept 
him up and forced him to meet the fresh at- 
tack that Gorman made — an attack in 
which that stickman seemed to be fencing 
mostly to mark the time of his jeering song: 

"Old Watson was a good old man, and taught the 
Bible class, 

But he did n't like the story of the jawbone of 
the ass. 

'Why did n't he make a popple-club?' so Uncle 
Watson said, 

'And scotch the tribe of the Phlistereens by bang- 
in' 'em on the head?'" 

The blow that time staggered Mac- 
Leod. 

"Chorus!" called "Poet" Larry, but be- 
fore he could rap his antagonist at the end 
of that roaring iteration the Honorable 
Pulaski was between them, having at last 
contrived to fight his way through the ranks 
of the crowding men. He narrowly missed 
getting the blow intended for his boss. He 
yanked the sled-stake out of the nerveless 
grasp of the sweating and discomfited Mac- 
Leod and raised it. 

"Be careful, Mr. Britt," yelped Gorman. 
His mien changed from gay insouciance to 
bitter fury. "You have struck me once in 
my life, and I took it and went on my way, 
because I was accepting your grub and 
your pay. You strike me to-day and I'll 
split your head like a rotten punkin." 

Britt had begun to rant about being able 
to thrash the whole Enchanted crew single- 
handed, maddened by the lamblike de- 
meanor of his own men. But he knew a 
desperate and dangerous man when he saw 
him. At that moment Larry Gorman was 
dangerous. The tyrant lowered his club and 
backed away, muttering some wordless re- 
crimination at which the poet curled his lip. 
Seeing his chance, Tommy Eye hooked his 
legs about the uprights and slid down the 
ladder with one dizzy plunge, struck the 



ground in squatting fashion, and shot 
head first into the ranks of his protec- 
tors. 

But after that masterly raillery of Gor- 
man's there was no fight left in the Busters. 
And his vengeful bearding of the Honorable 
Pulaski left the autocrat himself speechless 
and helpless. 

Tommy Eye's trembling hand fingered 
the inebriate's blue wattles under his chin, 
his wistful eyes peered over the shoulders 
of his new friends, and he knew he was safe. 
The Busters, nudging each other and growl- 
ing half-humorous comment, began to sift 
out of the yard of the Durfy hovel and 
lounge back along the trail toward the Jeru- 
salem camp. 

"Damn ye for cowards!" shrilled the 
Honorable Pulaski, viciously flinging the 
ash sled-stake after them. 

"Oh, but they're not cowards!" cried 
Larry. In his bushman's soul he realized 
that even now a chance taunt, a random 
prick of word, might start the fight afresh. 
"Every man jack there is known to me of 
old, and the good, brave boys they are! But 
your money ain't greasy enough, Mr. Britt, 
to make good men as them fight to take 
away a comrade's man-rights." 

The Busters nodded affirmation and kept 
on. One man stepped back and hallooed, 
"Right ye are, Larry Gorman! And when 
ye try to get your Enchanted logs first 
through the Hulling Machine next spring 
ye '11 find that we're the kind of gristle that 
can't be chawed. That'll be man's busi- 
ness, and no Teamster Tommy Eye to stub 
toe over!" 

There was a grin on the man's face, but 
none the less it was a challenge and Larry 
accepted it. 

"Sure, and we'll be there," he called; 
"we'll be there with hair a foot long, pick- 
pole in one hand, peavy-stick in the other, 
ready for a game of jackstraws in the white 
water and a fist-jig on the bank." 

"And will ye write it all into a song, Larry 
Gorman ? " 

"All into a song it shall go!" 

And roaring a good-natured cheer over 
their shoulders the Busters filed away into 
the mouth of Pogey Notch. 

"You may as well move, boys," ordered 
Rodburd Ide. "This business here isn't 
swampin' yards nor buildin' camps!" 

The men for Enchanted cheerfully shoul- 



42 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



dered dunnage-sacks and in their turn set 
away up the Notch. 

"Here's Tommy Eye's bill of his time, 
Mr. Britt," said Gorman, holding out a 
crumpled paper to the choking tyrant. 
Tommy himself had prudently departed, 
bulwarked by his new comrades. 

"I'll not pay it," blustered Britt. "He 
broke his contract." 

"No more does he want you to pay it," 
replied Larry, serenely, speaking in behalf 
of the amiable prodigal. "He says to credit 
it on that one drink of whiskey he took out 
of your bottle, and when he earns more 
money workin' for honest men he '11 pay ye 
the rest." 

He tore the paper across and across, 
snapped the bits in Britt's purple face, and 
turned and followed the crew. 

John Barrett was first to break the em- 
barrassed silence that fell upon the four 
men left at the camp. Rodburd Ide's brows 
were wrinkled and his lips were wreathing 
to ask the questions that his curiosity dic- 
tated. Britt was wrathfully gazing after the 
insolent Larry. Dwight Wade had taken 
up his pack and calipers and was waiting 
for Ide with some impatience. 

"Mr. Wade," began the Umcolcus baron 
nervously, "I hope you will appreciate my 
position in this matter and understand why 
it was necessary to change somewhat the 
plan we discussed on Jerusalem." 

"I shall not attempt to understand it," 
snapped Wade. "You volunteered prom- 
ises to me. I conveyed those promises to the 
party most interested, and you have seen 
fit to drop out from under. That terminates 
our business — all the business we had in 
common, Mr. Barrett." 

But the baron was anxious to placate. He 
began guarded explanations, to which Ide 
was listening intently, but which Wade cut 
short with a scorn there was no mistaking. 

"The only sort of interest I took in that 
unfortunate girl has been maliciously mis- 
interpreted, Mr. Barrett. She was thrown 
upon my hands in a way that you thoroughly 
understand. Mr. Ide as a plantation officer 
has relieved me of the responsibility. You 
can talk with him hereafter." 

"But what — what are you goin' to say 
to him?" faltered Barrett, forced to show 
his anxious fear, since Wade was moving 
away. 

"Nothing," replied the young man, 



curtly, but with a decisiveness there was no 
misunderstanding. ' ' The matter has ceased 
to be any business of mine. My business 
hereafter — and I say this to my partner — 
is concerned wholly and entirely with cer- 
tain lumbering-operations on Enchanted 
township." 

He went away, following the crew, and 
Rodburd Ide, eager to be gone, and seeing 
in the affair thus flatly dropped by Wade 
only a phase of the older animosity between 
Britt and the young man, — a quarrel that 
might seek any avenue for expression, even 
a State pauper, — demanded of Barrett: 

"Do you lay any especial claim to the 
girl ? " His tone was that of an official only. 

" Of course he does n't," broke in Britt, 
seeing that his associate was groping for a 
reply. "We did think of trying to help her, 
but what's the use? There is n't any more 
appreciation or gratitude in that sculch than 
there is in a pine knot. Send her back to the 
tribe." 

The little Castonia magnate looked re- 
lieved. 

"She's all right with my girl until I get 
home," he said. "Then the affair will take 
care of itself, like all those things do." He 
ran after his men. 

The Honorable Pulaski promptly checked 
the incoherent expostulations of the stump- 
age-baron. 

"No, I haven't committed you, either," 
he blurted. "Bluff it out. It's the only way 
to do. It's the way I advised you to do in 
the first place. The thing looks big to you 
now, here in the woods. You're down on 
the level with it. Get back into the city and 
get your tail-coat on and your dignity, and 
sit up on top of that Governor's boom of 
yours, and the story will only be political 
blackmail if they try it on you. But they 
won't. That Wade fellow is one of those 
righteous sort of asses that like to read 
moral lessons to other people, and especially 
to you in order to work out his grudge on 
you. But he's all done. I know the sort. 
The thing began to scorch his fingers and he 
chucked it. He's got enough to attend to 
in these woods. Don't you worry." 

"But I do worry," mourned Barrett. 
"And there's the girl to consider. God save 
me, Pulaski, she 's mine. Her looks show it. 
I can't sleep nights after this, unless she is 
taken care of in a decent way." 

"There'll be a dozen methods of doin' it 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



43 



when the time is ripe," urged the other, con- 
solingly. "As it is now, you get out of these 
woods and stay out, and attend to your 
business — which is my business, too, when 
it comes to the Governor matter. By the 
gods, you've seen enough in this trip to 
understand that we have n't got any too safe 
timber laws as it is. If the farmers get con- 
trol next trip it means trouble for such of 
us as take to the tall timber. Buck up, man. 
Don't believe for a minute that we 're go in' 
to let a college dude and a State pauper 
queer you. The thing will work itself 
out." 

He uttered a sudden snort of disgust, 
gazing over Barrett's shoulder. 

"Foolish Abe" of the Skeets had edged 
out of the bush, the silence after the uproar 
of voices and conflict encouraging him. He 
seemed pitifully bewildered. An instinct, 
almost canine, prompted him to take the 
trail to the south, for his only friend, the 
girl of the tribe, had gone that way. But a 
strange female had gone with her, and for 
strange females he entertained unspeakable 
fear. 

"Here, you cross-eyed baboon," called 
the Honorable Pulaski, "go! Scoot!" He 
pointed north in the direction in which the 
Enchanted crew had disappeared. "Young 
man want you. Follow him. Stay with him. 
Run!" He picked up his discarded sled- 
stake and the fool hurried away toward the 
Notch. " I 'd like to see that human nail-kag 
plastered onto the Enchanted crew for the 
winter," remarked Britt, with malice. 
"There's no fillin' him up. He'll eat as 
much as three men, and that Wade is just 
enough of a soft thing not to turn him out 
If I can't bore an enemy with a pod-auger, 
John, I'll do it with a gimlet — a gimlet will 
let more or less blood." 

Five minutes later Barrett was on his way 
south alone, his courage braced by some 
final arguments from his iron associate, his 
mind made up to adopt the course of indig- 
nant bluff suggested by the belligerent Britt. 

And Britt was stumping north, driving 
the blubbering Abe before him with sundry 
hoots and missiles. 

When the poor creature came crawling to 
the fire on hands and knees at dusk that 
evening, hairy, pitiable, and drooling with 
hunger, Rodburd Ide accepted him with 
resignation, though he recognized Britt's 
petty malice — for Abe Skeet would never 



have come past a well-stocked lumber-camp 
to follow wanderers into the wilderness un- 
less driven past. 

That night the Enchanted crew camped 
on Attean Stream, one day's journey from 
their destination. The tired men snored as 
they fell, after a supper eaten from their 
packs, their heads on their dunnage-bags. 

They were away in the first flush of the 
morning, Rodburd Ide leading with his 
partner. Wade welcomed the little man's 
absorbed interest in the business ahead of 
them. Ide asked no questions about the 
incident at Durfy's. Wade put the hideous 
topic as far behind the other thoughts of his 
mind as he could — and soon other thoughts 
crowded it. 

As they passed out of the zone of striped 
maple, round-wood, witch-hobble, and 
mountain holly that Mother Nature had 
scrabbled across her naked breast after the 
rude hand of Pulaski Britt had stripped the 
virgin growth, his heart lifted. Under the 
great spruces of Enchanted, bricks, streets, 
and human passions seemed very far 
away. 

Before he slept that night he had had an 
experience that thrilled the sense of the pri- 
mordial self hidden within him, as it is 
hidden in all men, and covered by con- 
ventions. 

He had staked the metes and bounds, the 
corners, the frontage, the dimensions of a 
home ab initio, where no roof except the 
crowns of trees had ever shut sunlight off 
the earth. 

Mankind in general opens eyes within 
walls that the hands of those coming before 
have built. 

Many have no occasion to seek ever for 
other quarters than those their fathers have 
given them. With most, the limit of ex- 
ploration is the quest for a new rent. Man- 
kind who build, build along settled streets, 
first taking note that sewers and water-sys- 
tem have been installed. 

Even in the woods, most crews come up 
to find that the advance skirmishers have 
builded main camp, meal-camp, horse- 
hovels, and wangan. Owing to the sudden 
forming of Rodburd Ide's partnership with 
the young man whom Fate threw in his way, 
and his equally sudden determination to 
operate on virgin Enchanted with the assist- 
ance of one who had shown his ability to 
cope with difficulty, there had been no time 



44 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



for preliminaries. Even the tote-teams 
with the winter's supplies were miles away 
down the trail, for in the woods the human 
two-foot out-classes the equine four-foot. 

Therefore, Wade, perspiring in the fore- 
front of the toilers, saw the first tree topple, 
heard it crash outward from the site of the 
camp, and tugged with the others when it 
was set into place as the sill. When he 
stood back and wiped his forehead and 
gazed on that one lonesome log it made roof- 
less outdoors seem bigger and more threat- 
ening. The rain was pattering from a cold 
sky. The thrall of centuries of housed an- 
cestors was on him. Roof and walls had 
attached themselves to his sentiency, even 
as the shell of the snail is attached to its 
pulp. 

But the next moment Larry Gorman 
started a song, and the rollicking hundred 
about him took it up and toiled with merry 
thoughtlessness of all except that God's good 
greenwood was about them and God's sky 
above them, and Wade bent again to labor, 
ashamed that he had counted shingles and 
plaster as standing for so much. 

They put up eight-log walls for the main 
camp, notching the ends. A hundred will- 
ing men made the buildings grow like toad- 
stools. While the walls were going up men 
laid floors of poles shaved flat on one side. 
The first team up brought tarred paper and 
the few boards needed for tables and like 
uses. The tarred paper and cedar splints 
roofed all comfortably. 

The second team brought stove, tin 
dishes, and raw staples — and cook and 
cookee walked behind. 

And when old Christopher Straight came 
on the tail of the procession as fast as he 
could hurry back from Castonia settlement, 
the camps stood complete under the frown 
of Enchanted Mountain, with Enchanted 
Stream gurgling over brown rocks at the 
door. 

The distant whick-whack of axes told 
where the swampers were clearing the way, 
and the tearing crash of trees punctuated 
the ceaseless "ur-r rick-raw!" of the cross- 
cut saws. The only ax scarf on Ide's trees 
was the nick necessary to direct their fall. 
They were felled by the saw. 

Two days of exploration on the spruce 
benches straight back from the stream 
showed up a million feet of black growth 
easily available for a first season's operation. 



Ide, Wade, and old Christopher cruised, 
pacing parallels and counting trees. And 
when they sat down on an outcropping of 
ledge the young man made so many saga- 
cious observations that Ide goggled his eyes 
in amazement. 

"Where did you learn lumberin'?" he 
demanded. 

"I was n't aware that I knew it — not as 
it is viewed from a practical standpoint," 
replied Wade, humbly. "I was going to ask 
you in a moment if you would n't like to 
have me keep still so that you and Chris- 
topher could talk sense." 

" I never heard better opinions on a stand 
of timber and a lay of land," affirmed his 
partner. "It looks as though you'd been 
holdin' out on me," he added, with a grim 
smile. 

The young man smiled back. There was 
a certain grateful pride in his expression. 

"I know how veteran woodsmen look on 
book-learned chaps, Mr. Ide," he said. "I 
was simply trying a bit of an experiment 
with my little knowledge from books. I 
was waiting to have you and Christopher 
pull me up short. I am rather surprised to 
find that you consider what I said was good 
sense. But after a book-fellow has bumped 
against practical men like — like Mr. Britt, 
for a time, he begins to distrust his books 
and their teachings. It's simply this way, 
Mr. Ide: I had a couple of young men in my 
high school who were interested in forestry 
of the modern sort, and I worked with them 
in order to encourage them as much as pos- 
sible. It is almost impossible for a reading- 
man in these days not to take an interest in 
the protection of our forests, for the folks 
at Washington have made it the great topic 
of the times." 

"Well," remarked Ide, with a sigh of ap- 
preciation, "I never read a book on forestry 
in my life, and I never heard of a lumber- 
man in these parts who ever had. But if 
you can get facts like those you've stated 
out of books I reckon some of us better 
spend our winter evenin's readin' instead of 
playin' pitch pede." He got up and gave 
the young man a complimenting palm. 
"Wade," he said, earnestly, "I'll own up 
that I've been a little prejudiced against 
book-fellows, myself. Instead of givin' an 
ignorant man the contents of the book — 
the juice of it, as you might say — in a way 
that won't hurt, they are so anxious to have 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



45 



him know that it's book-learnin' they've 
got, they '11 bang him across the face with it, 
book-covers and all. I like your knowledge, 
because it's goin' to help us in handlin' this 
thing we've bit off up here. But I'll be 
blamed if I don't like your modesty best 
of all." 

He picked up his calipers, stuck them 
under his arm, and started for camp with a 
precipitateness that was unspoken affirma- 
tion of full confidence in his partner's 
ability. 

And the next morning he buttoned the 
camp letters in his coat and started south 
for Castonia with the outgoing tote-team. 

"I don't worry about this end," he said, 
at parting. "And you need n't worry about 
mine. Don't be afraid of goin' hungry. 
There's nothin' like full stomachs to make 
axes and saws run well. It will be hand to 
mouth till snow flies, and then I'll slip you 
in stores enough to fill that wangan to the 
roof. Good heart, my boy! We're goin' to 
make some money." 

Wade followed him to the edge of the 
clearing with his first sense of loneliness tug- 
ging within him. 

"Safe home to you, Mr. Ide," he said, 
"and my respectful regard to Miss Nina, if 
you will express it to her. I suppose — she 
will probably — the girl she took away — " 
he stammered. 



"By thunder mighty!" cried the Castonia 
magnate, whirling on him, "I'd forgotten 
all about that Skeet girl, or Arden girl, or 
whatever they call her." 

He eyed the young man with a dawning 
of his old curiosity, but Wade met his gaze 
with frank look. 

"The affair of the girl is not mine at all," 
he said. "Simply because she seemed 
superior to the tribe she was with, I hoped 
Mr. Barrett would do as he partly promised 
— use a few dollars of his money to help 
her up from the muck. Such cases appeal 
to me, because I am not accustomed to see- 
ing them, perhaps." 

"If my girl is interested in that poor little 
wildcat you need n't think twice about her 
bein' taken good care of," cried the ad- 
miring father. 

And gazing into the wholesome eyes and 
candid face of the little man, Wade reflected 
that perhaps Fate had handled a problem 
better for John Barrett's abandoned daugh- 
ter than he himself in his resentful zeal had 
planned. 

He shook Ide by the hand, and, with the 
picture of John Barrett's other daughter in 
his dimming eyes and the love of John Bar- 
rett's other daughter burning his lonely 
heart, he turned back towards the woods 
whose fronded arms, the October wind toss- 
ing them, beckoned him to his duty. 



THE EAST 

By JAMES BRANNIN 

Silent with hoary years and memories 

I sit alone upon the desert sand. 

All that you seek to know I understand, 
All that you may not see my calm soul sees. 
Far off the echoing dead centuries, 

With all their fervid passion stirred and fanned 

And stilled again by old Fate's mighty wand, 
Call faint their vanity of vanities. 



All these I knew in old years overpast, 

And worshipped living hearts, now carven stone 
Long buried by the shores of vanished seas. 
All these I knew: wars, creeds, and engines vast, 
Vast empire, gold, and lust. I sit alone 
In peace. O vanity of vanities! 



A GAY DECEIVER 



By MABEL S. MERRILL 




ILEEN had the unmistakable 
air of one escaping from an 
ordeal as she ran down the 
steps of her fiance's house to 
her car, that was backing and 
snorting at the curbing. 

"Brr-rr-r!" she shivered. "I'll go home 
and take a bowl of ginger-tea; I'm sure 
she's given me a chill. Has she really got 
to live with us after we're married, Ward? 
because I '11 have to spend a summer or two 
in Greenland or on top of the Pole in order 
to get acclimated." 

"You know I'm all she has — such as I 
am," said Ward, anxiously, as he helped 
her to a seat in the vehicle. "How can I 
expect my father's sister to make her home 
anywhere but with the last of the Lorings, 
now that she 's left all alone ? We must try 
again, dear; we have n't found the key to 
Aunt Margaret yet. She's very reserved, 
and I expect some of our city ways are a 
shock to her nerves. No doubt she thinks 
.I'm fast—" 

"Good heavens!" interjected Eileen, in 
hushed tones. "Then what must she think 
of me!" 

Ward laughed uneasily, for she had voiced 
the thought in his own mind. He was very 
proud of his beautiful sweetheart, but there 
was no denying that she was very lively 
and very modern — that was it; she was so 
exceedingly modern ! How could she be ex- 
pected to get on with an old country woman, 
stern and proud and full of the traditions 
of the gentlefolk of the old school? 

"Well, I guess we're in about the same 
box," he confessed, ruefully. "She seems 
to think my club is the home of all iniquity 
and that I must be a menace to society be- 
cause I don't go to bed at nine every night. 
But she's a brick, just the same, Eileen. 
Nobody was ever so good to me as Aunt 
Margaret those summers I used to go down 
to the farm, a good-for-nothing kid that 
they thought would n't live to grow up. 
And she's made a big difference in my life 
at home since she came. The house has n't 

4 6 



seemed so much like a home since mother 
died. It's wonderful, considering she's 
wholly unused to city ways, how she's 
straightened things out." 

"And now she's taken a contract to 
straighten us out," murmured Eileen, in a 
voice of awe. "Was it for this I left my 
happy home in peaceful New York after all 
the warnings I had? Oh, yes, everybody 
warned me about coming to Boston; but I 
was young and headstrong. Well, well, I '11 
go home and take my ginger-tea and recu- 
perate — then I '11 come again. But I tell 
you it 's no use. She 's convinced in advance 
that I'm a desperate character." 

Eileen did repeat her visit again and 
again, but to Ward, looking anxiously on, 
it seemed that matters grew worse instead 
of better. Aunt Margaret appeared to be- 
come primmer, colder, and more sternly 
disapproving with every fresh glimpse of 
her nephew's volatile fiancee. As for Eileen, 
it seemed as if some perverse imp had en- 
tered into the girl. Everything that was 
frivolous and flippant in her character and 
manner she appeared to fairly flaunt in 
Aunt Margaret's face. Perhaps she was 
bent upon displaying herself in the worst 
light, that no one might later accuse her of 
hypocrisy. Or was she (and Aunt Margaret 
as well) deficient in natural affection, that 
there was no sympathy, no swift instinctive 
appeal from loving youth to yearning old 
age. And could she care much for her lover 
when she took so little pains to please the 
woman who occupied his mother's place ? 

Ward asked himself these questions with 
an anxious heart, for the wedding-day was 
not far distant, and how would it be when 
Eileen came into his home? Moreover, 
what was his own duty in the matter ? — 
for Aunt Margaret's happiness as well as 
that of his future wife must be carefully 
considered. The conscientious, affectionate 
fellow was being ground between two very 
hard stones. 

Eileen came and went, merry and irre- 
sponsible. She began to take an interest in 



A GAY DECEIVER 



47 



Ward's handsome house that seemed very- 
much like the interest a child takes in a 
new doll's house. Ward feared that she 
offended Aunt Margaret with her incur- 
sions, though they were as pretty to watch 
as the nights and perchings of a bird, and 
accompanied with about the same sort of 
twittering and chatter. She came to him 
one day in great glee at the discovery of a 
big, low, unused room under the splendid 
staircase. 

"Why did n't you tell me of it before, you 
old Bluebeard ? " she demanded. " I 'm go- 
ing to take possession of it now I've found 
it. Never mind what I want it for. Just 
give me the key, and when it's all done I'll 
let you in. Maybe it 's a museum I want to 
set up, and maybe it's a laboratory; you'll 
see in due time. Oh, yes, I asked Aunt 
Margaret, if that's what you're wrinkling 
your nose about, and she said she didn't 
care. Of course she doesn't care what I 
do; I'm an insect, and she does n't concern 
herself with insects unless they buzz too 
near." 

The new fancy seemed to please her, and 
she worked away mysteriously for several 
days at the fitting-up of the new room. 
Ward was absent while most of the bump- 
ing and hammering went on, and Aunt 
Margaret betook herself to the drawing- 
room with her knitting, to be away from the 
noise and the "mess," as she phrased it. 
This suited Eileen, who wanted to keep the 
secret of the room until it was finished. To 
that end she brought one of her own serv- 
ants with her each time she came, and 
took him away very unceremoniously when 
the day's work was done, that he might 
have no opportunity for gossip. She was so 
childishly absorbed in her new plan that 
Ward could not help being amused, though 
he was secretly wishing she would bestow 
half as much interest upon himself or Aunt 
Margaret as upon that empty room. 

"To-morrow you're not going to dine at 
your club, mind you," she said to him one 
day, as she put on her hat to go home. " My 
museum — or laboratory — is done, and I 
shall serve — well, a collation for you and 
Aunt Margaret. I thought at first I should 
send her an invitation through the mails, 
but I took courage to do it byword of mouth, 
and lo! she said she would come." 

Ward laughed at her in the mirror, as he 
stood behind her, but she saw the wrinkles 



in his forehead and put up her hand to 
smooth them out. 

"What are you worrying about now?" 
she demanded. "I believe you suspect me 
of plans to blow up Aunt Margaret. I 
sha'n't blow her up. I scorn such crude 
methods. Besides, she's your property, 
and whatever else I 'm not I 've always been 
a law-abiding citizen. And after all, your 
property is my property, you know." 

Ward answered this speech in a fashion 
that necessitated a complete readjustment 
of the hat, and they started for Eileen's 
house, the girl chattering like a flock of 
guinea-fowls — so Aunt Margaret, watch- 
ing them from the window, grimly observed 
to herself. 

The next morning, as Ward was putting 
on his storm-coat in the hall, — it was rain- 
ing heavily outside, — his aunt came out of 
the breakfast-room and laid a hand on his 
arm. She was as frowningly upright as a 
general at review, but Ward saw that she 
was very pale. 

"Nephew," she began; "I hate to say it, 
but I must do as your mother ought to do 
if she were here. There are mistakes, very 
quick and easy in the making, that bring 
the ruin of our lives along after them. Some 
one must speak before it is too late. Think, 
child, whether you're making a mistake 
now. Beauty and style don't count for much 
if there's no heart underneath; and frothy 
manners may be ever so pretty to look at, 
but they're wearing to live with. The Lor- 
ings have always married for the solid 
things that make a happy home." 

She was gone before Ward could speak. 
An angry flush had risen to his face, but 
second thought showed that his aunt had 
spoken out of real concern for him. She, 
as well as he, had the Loring conscientious- 
ness. 

The young man carried a heavy heart to 
his place of business that day. All through 
his work he kept hearing those words: 
"Think whether you are making a mis- 
take." He knew that he loved Eileen as 
well as ever; the world would be a hateful 
place to him without her. But what if he 
had deceived himself in thinking that her 
pretty, thoughtless ways covered a warm, 
loving heart? What if she were really shal- 
low and unfeeling, the mere butterfly of 
fashion that others thought her? He de- 
spised himself for the question, yet it per- 



4 8 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



sisted in rising silently. He had known so 
little of Eileen before their engagement! 
Their acquaintance had been of the short- 
est. Did he actually know much, after all, 
of her real tastes, her deeper feelings ? He 
banished the question angrily, calling back 
his loyalty and faith. But the weight at his 
heart had not quite lifted when, his work 
done, he came slowly homeward through 
the rain. 

Eileen met him at the door. "I'm going 
to show you something the like of which is 
not to be found elsewhere in Greater Bos- 
ton!" she announced. 

Aunt Margaret came out of the drawing- 
room a little stiffly, and joined them with 
something the air of a prim little girl bidden 
to a party of which she does not wholly ap- 
prove. Eileen led them with a nourish to 
the door of the closed room and, unlocking 
it, ushered them inside. 

It certainly was a quaint and surprising 
sight in the big stately house, — that long, 
low room with a yellow painted floor like an 
old farmhouse kitchen. There were plenty 
of braided rugs laid around with the lavish- 
ness of our grandmothers, to whom rug- 
making was a pastime. A big, old-fashioned 
range had been set up, and a wood fire was 
crackling gaily up the wide chimney. The 
tea-kettle was singing a comfortable song, 
and Aunt Margaret's great gray cat — the 
one pet she had brought from the farm — 
was purring delightedly on the rug in front 
of the oven-door. There were two or three 
splint-bottomed chairs with soft, baggy 
cushions, and there was a low table with a 
red cover on which stood a motherly look- 
ing work-basket with a needle sticking in a 
half-mended stocking. There was an old- 
fashioned clock with a colored picture in 
the door, and it was ticking away soberly 
as if it had lived there for years. Other 
shelves held bright tin pans and quaint- 
shaped platters. There was a sink with a 
shelf on which stood a pail of water and a 
tin dipper. In short, it was a Yankee farm- 
house kitchen complete; it only wanted a 
low, vine-wreathed back door opening 
straight into an old garden or a green 
orchard where blossoms drifted down and 
silver water sparkled at the foot of the 
slope. 

But as the rain was beating against the 
windows they could afford to dismiss the 
vision of an open door and gather around 



the fire, where the cat welcomed them rap- 
turously. 

Eileen did not sit down. She was stepping 
in and out of a closet which seemed to be 
fitted up as a pantry. 

"We're going to have dinner right here," 
she announced; "that big dining-room of 
yours, Ward, has floated off into limbo for 
to-night. So has all the rest of that ark you 
call a house. There's only this room, just 
anchored in space with us in it, and before 
it gets loose again we 're going to have a real 
country supper — I did n't mean to call it 
dinner. I suppose you know it's Saturday 
night, and of course there are beans in the 
oven. I'm going to make biscuit — " 

At this Ward, who had been staring about 
like a man in a trance, suddenly threw back 
his head with a shout. 

"You make biscuit!" he said. "Come, 
Aunt Margaret, this begins to look like a 
plot against our lives; but of course we can 
drop 'em under the table when her back is 
turned." 

Eileen shrugged her shoulders at him, and 
went on with her preparations. She replen- 
ished the fire from a box of wood in the 
corner, took out of the oven a pot of beans 
(which the skeptic had to admit smelled de- 
licious), and set them on the back of the 
stove, where they would not be injured by 
the extra heat of the oven she was preparing. 
Presently she emerged with her sleeves 
pinned up and with deft hand slid a tin in- 
to the oven before the scoffing Ward could 
get a glimpse of the contents. But it was 
actually biscuits that came out a few min- 
utes later, and they proved to be as crisp 
and toothsome as they looked when, the 
table set and the tea poured, they gathered 
around the board. 

Ward, who was by this time in such a 
state of astonishment that he could only 
gasp, ate his supper rather silently. So did 
Aunt Margaret, who seemed to grow stiffer 
every minute. 

Eileen, however, chattered for all three, 
and about all things in heaven and earth 
rather than the new room and this unique 
entertainment. But for the chatter Ward 
might have been persuaded that the fairies 
had stolen his very modern Eileen and left 
this deft-handed changling in her place. 
He watched her with amusement, wonder- 
ing what lay back of this pretty play and in 
what school of acting she had learned her 



A GAY DECEIVER 



49 



part, especially the biscuit! He would not 
spoil it by asking. 

There was a little old piano in the room, 
and after supper, as the twilight fell and the 
firelight began to cast long gleams into 
shadowy corners, Eileen perched herself on 
the music-stool. Ward had heard her sing- 
ing the latest opera catches, but never the 
old-time songs that all the world loves; he 
had no idea that she knew any such. But 
to-night she sang them, — "Old Folks at 
Home," "Suwanee River." How sweet 
they sounded in the silence of the house! 

His eyes clung to the gleam of the girl's 
white gown in the dusk. What had come 
over her ? Was all this only a pretty bit of 
masquerading? He wished to know what 
Aunt Margaret thought of it. She had been 
so grimly silent all the evening! Perhaps 
such childish play was an affront to her cold 
dignity. Must these two always jangle, like 
strings that cannot be attuned to each other ? 

He broke off his musings suddenly to lis- 
ten. Eileen, her hands scarcely touching 
the keys, had glided into " Aft on Water." 
He remembered that in his summer visits 
to the old homestead they used to sing that, 
— Aunt Margaret, Uncle Jim, the children, 
and his boyish self, — all sitting on the porch 
in the twilight under the summer stars. 
There was witchery in Eileen's voice — a 
soft, pathetic voice, strangely and sweetly 
at variance with her frivolous manner. He 
could see the dim orchard slope where the 
fireflies sparkled and hear the musical whis- 
pers of the river dreaming in the flower- 
scented dusk of the low fields around the 
old home. 

"Flow gently, sweet Afton; 
Disturb not her dream." 

Through the low, plaintive music a sound 
broke suddenly; it was a stifled sob from 
Aunt Margaret's corner. 

The song ended in the middle of a line. 
Eileen's gown flashed like a white wing 
across the shadows and she was on her 
knees by Aunt Margaret's chair, with her 



arms around the bowed figure, her sweet 
voice rippling a loving accompaniment to 
the older woman's broken words: 

" There, there, poor dear! I knew it would 
bring it all back; but it will do you good, 
darling, and you shall cry as much as ever 
you like. And, O Ward Loring, how can a 
man be such a simpleton at your time of 
life! You told me she was reserved, and 
did n't understand our ways, and might be 
shocked by this and that. You never told 
me at all that she was homesick! — just 
homesick almost to death. And it took me 
ever so long to find out what really ailed 
her, you had misled me so; and even then 
I was afraid to put my finger on the hurt, 
and had to get up this play because I did n't 
dare say a word, she covered it all up so 
with starch and dignity. And I was scared 
to death of her, so I covered that up with 
sauce (it was all I had, poor thing!). But 
oh, Auntie, don't you ever be a hero like 
that again; you just tell it all out to your 
foolish little niece and let her talk to you 
about the time they reft her away from the 
home where she was born (just like this, 
with yellow-painted floor and rugs and all) 
and carried her off to Europe and New York 
and other heathen places to be educated in 
a lot of things she did n't want to know. Oh, 
all the culture in the world can't buy a home 
like this, can it, Auntie? It takes some- 
body that 's lived it like you and me. And 
I suppose Ward Loring thinks any fool can 
make biscuit, but it took me all summer to 
learn when I was a girl. And say, Auntie, 
Ward 's going to buy me a wedding present 
to give to you; he has n't said so, but he is; 
and it's your old home, just as it used to be. 
First we shall go up there and live with you, 
and then you'll come here and live with us, 
and every summer we'll spend there all to- 
gether. And next time I'll find out things 
for myself; for I'll never trust a man again! " 
"My dear," said Aunt Margaret, in hap- 
py bewilderment, as she felt the young 
arms cling about her, "I don't think you 
need to!" 




Within the crater of Mt. Popocatepetl 



UP MT. POPOCATEPETL 



By G. F. PAUL 



Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky -pointing 

peak, 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure 

serene, 
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast — 
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain, thou 
That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base, 
Slow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
To rise before me — rise, O, ever rise; 
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth, 
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven. 
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God! 
— Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

VERY American schoolboy, 
seeking refuge in his geogra- 
phy to keep out of mischief, 
will sooner or later find in it 
the picture of a bold, snow- 
capped mountain, and beneath it a name 
that makes him look twice to pronounce 
it. And when, grown to manhood, he 

5° 




looks out over the valley of Mexico from 
some hilltop, that same snow-capped moun- 
tain, majestic and serene, will rivet his at- 
tention and make him think twice whether 
he can conquer its 17,800 feet or not. In 
height, it yields to only one elevation in the 
North American continent, Mount St. 
Elias; in beauty, it yields to none. It is now 
an extinct volcano, its name signifying "the 
smoking mountain," but sulphur fumes 
and smoke are still emitted, and, like other 
volcanoes of the same latitude, rising again 
in its fury, it may pour down a flood of lava 
and ashes upon the valleys of Mexico and 
Puebla. 

On Sunday afternoon at four o'clock, 
three of us, Vaughan of Louisiana, Marion 
now of Tehuantepec, and myself, left Mex- 
ico City for Popocatepetl. When it hap- 
pened to be suggested at the hotel that we 
should make the trip we were ready in two 
minutes. It hardly need be said that we 
knew nothing of the elaborate preparations 
other parties made for the ascent. We had 



UP MT. POPOCATEPETL 



5i 



no blue goggles, no fancy alpenstocks, no 
ostentatious firearms. Our stock in trade 
consisted of a " gringo" air and an aggre- 
gate of nine badly battered Spanish words. 
Carefully husbanding the same, we pulled 
out of the San Lazaro station just as the 
daily rain came down upon us. Along the 
wide roads leading to the city groups of 
ragged peons huddled close to the protect- 
ing trees, or crouched near their patient 



dot the roadside. Long-horned cattle, like 
those of Italy's Campagna, feed knee-deep 
on the luxuriant marsh grass. The rain 
clears away, and the men, shaking their 
blankets, set off at a brisk canter. Off to 
the right, beyond the canal, rises an extinct 
volcano, an outpost of Iztaccihuatl. The 
train crawls carefully up the rough moun- 
tain-side. Again the rain sets in even 
harder than before, splashing bucketfuls 




Gate to the town of Amecameca, at the foot of Mt. Popocatepetl 



burros. Lake Texcoco spread out to the 
left of us. On we went through the big 
olive-trees of Ayotla, where the real ascent 
of the Sierra Nevada begins. The road 
follows the highway that passes now, as it 
did long before the time of Cortes, between 
Popocatepetl and the twin peak, Iztacci- 
huatl. By this highway Span'sh, French, 
and American invaders have descended on 
the nation's capital. 

The ride is a succession of panoramas 
from the Old World. Quaint little shrines 



against the windows and threatening to 
overturn the little narrow-gauge cars. 
Great gusts of wind puff out the smoky 
lamps, leaving us in a dripping, inky 
blackness that is only accentuated by the 
flaring streaks of lightning. The angry 
growl of tropical thunder rolls back from 
mountain fastnesses. The water rises in a 
twinkling, flooding the track and stopping 
the train. After an hour's delay the water 
subsides, and we pull on to Amecameca. 
We were met by a pack of noisy urchins, 



52 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



each anxious to carry a grip. They took 
us through the high double gate of the only 
hotel in this city of ten thousand people. 
Amecameca is old enough for even the 
slow-going Mexicans to get two hotels 
started by this time, for it was founded by 
the Chicimecs in 647 a.d. Back of the city 
rises the remarkable Sacro Monte, a soli- 
tary hill heavily wooded, on the top of which, 
reached by a magnificent stone stairway, 
are two famous churches. To visit these 
most sacred shrines, great numbers of pil- 
grims trudge many a mile, even coming from 



could n't make any very satisfactory com- 
bination of our nine Spanish words, so he 
shrugged his shoulders and left. 

Our room was a huge one with three 
beds; the wash-basin was as big as a tub; 
the soft pine floor was painted bright red; 
the door-keys were as ponderous as those 
of London Tower. The next morning we 
were up early, eager to see how the land 
lay. A fat, bare-footed girl was laboriously 
sweeping with a wisp of a broom the stone 
walks that rambled among the geranium- 
beds. Oriental Charley was clicking 




Popocatepetl from Amecameca 



such distant places as Zacatecas and San 
Luis Potosi. 

But to return to the hotel. It was built 
around an open court, or patio, where, as 
we found later, luxurious flowers rioted in 
lavish profusion. We had no sooner said 
that we intended to climb Popocatepetl 
than one of the Mexican muchachos was 
off like a flash to find his master. That 
worthy came while Charley, the China- 
man, was bringing on steaks and chicken 
and black coffee. The would-be renter of 
guides and horses was slim and swarthy, 
with heavy sombrero and dark serape. His 
tall figure made a striking picture as he 
stood in the dim light near the table and 
occasionally flecked his cigarette. He 



around, setting the breakfast-table. Down 
the middle of the streets the water from the 
previous night's rain was still coursing. 
The picturesque churches and quaint mar- 
ket that at another time would have claimed 
attention were almost unnoticed, for, seem- 
ingly within gunshot, rose "the monarch 
of mountains," and if he felt as big as he 
looked he certainly must have thought this 
tiny world of ours too small a footstool for 
his royal self. 

After more dickering for a guide and 
horses, we had a hamper filled with food; 
at noon we were in the saddle and off for 
the mountains. Half an hour later a rain- 
cloud saw us scudding along and pounced 
down upon us with full force. Then it was 



UP MT. POPOCATEPETL 



53 



simply a question of sitting still in the sad- 
dle and letting the water drip. Farther on, 
while we were trying to dry our blankets, 
we met a long train of burros creeping 
down from the mountain loaded with wood 
and charcoal. 

Off to the left extended a large hacienda, 
or ranch, a magnificent and well-equipped 
estate, for we could hear the siren whistle 
of its mill. The ascent led us by deep can- 
yons and through dark, dense forests of 
pine. The air was filled with resinous 
odors. One distinctly noticeable fact was 



waist-high. At the foot of the hill we 
crossed a small plateau of rock and volcanic 
sand; almost before we could realize it, the 
stone chimney of the sulphur-furnace at 
Tlamacas, as the ranch is called, popped 
into sight. We could now see the great vol- 
cano in all its dread grandeur. Until then 
it had seemed a pyramid. Now beyond the 
timbered barranca it swelled high its snowy 
tent, filling the whole southern sky. Co- 
lossal, stupendous, sublime, it towered 
above our Lilliputian selves. Like school- 
boys before a stern master's eye, our chat- 




Mt. Iztaccihuatl from Mt. Popocatepetl 



the absence of animal life. There was not 
a bird in sight, nor was the stillness of that 
vast forest broken by a sound except the 
steady hoof-beats of our horses. Far below 
us we could catch flitting glimpses of Ame- 
cameca, bathed in the sweetness of the sum- 
mer sun. Down from the ice-clad sides of 
old Popo swept a chilling wind that went 
through our clothing as if it were paper. 
Each man instinctively touched up his 
horse, that we might reach shelter before 
darkness settled over the land. A few min- 
utes later, after passing several rough hum- 
mocks, we went slipping and sliding down 
a steep ravine covered with clumps of grass 



ter ceased. Even Marion quit regaling us 
with the melody, "In days of old, when 
knights were bold;" an elevation of 12,772 
feet and a frowning, chilly mountain did 
not encourage singing in the least. 

As the rude log-and-board house for men 
was nearly destroyed, we made the well- 
ventilated horse-shed our headquarters. 
Here at Tlamacas the sulphur taken out of 
the crater was formerly purified in the big 
furnace. After a sulphur-digger had hoisted 
to the edge of the crater twenty-five hun- 
dred pounds of sulphur it was roped to- 
gether. Squatting on the snow, he would 
make a cushion of his blanket and take a 



54 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



toboggan-slide down the mountain, drag- 
ging in his wake the train of sulphur. 

After supper we brought in our horses 
and spread our blankets in the remaining 
space around the suffocating, blinding fire. 
The rain came driving down, making us 
fear every moment the frail structure would 
collapse. The guide, who had affirmed that 
he would n't sleep a wink, curled up in a 
fat ball and dreamed of scarlet serapes and 
brave bull-fights, while the inquisitive rain 
beat through the gaping cracks and the fire 
sizzled and smoked. About midnight a 
piercing howl awoke us. The bald-faced 



the giant, broken only by the black pinnacle 
known as Pico del Fraile (the friar's cap). 
At an elevation of 13,710 feet we left all 
trees and grasses behind us. Scoria, ashes, 
and snow lay in front. Our horses sank 
to their knees in the volcanic sand; they 
quickly became exhausted, and time and 
again had to stop and rest. As the grade 
was steep, we advanced in a series of zig- 
zags, we ourselves walking most of the way. 
At last we reached Las Cruces, a cheerless 
bunch of rocks with one or two gruesome 
crosses; here still harder work began. The 
guide would go no farther, but sat down on 




The shelter on the side of Mt. Popocatepetl 



pony had stepped square on the mozo's 
left foot. He clubbed the beast and moved 
his bed to the manger. Presently, when 
the rain slackened and the wind lulled, we 
got some sleep, waking in time to see the 
sun tinting the eastern skies with splendor 
and charging the clouds below us with 
gorgeous reds and yellows. We swallowed 
our breakfast and set out in single file 
through the silent forest. Passing over out- 
stretched pines, we reached the Barranca of 
Niloac. Down we seemed to plunge into 
its gloomy depths, letting the horses have 
their way as they felt along the narrow 
twelve-inch path cut in the side of the cliff. 
Far above loomed the eternal whiteness of 



the cold rocks and puffed at cigarettes. On 
we pushed afoot. At an elevation of nearly 
16,000 feet Vaughan insisted that he could 
not go a step farther. He began to bleed at 
the nose, his heart was beating like a trip- 
hammer, his temples throbbed as if to burst. 
He would not, however, listen to one of us 
going back with him, saying that he could n't 
think of spoiling our trip. It was with the 
greatest reluctance that we saw him start 
back down the mountain alone. He crept 
slowly on all fours; but after being assured 
that he would be all right, we two climbed 
on as best we could. Every hundred feet 
we would have to rest, for we puffed as if 
we had run a good half-mile at a 2:10 pace. 



UP MT. POPOCATEPETL 



55 




Valley of Puebla through the clouds from Mt. Popocatepetl 



Whirling rocks, loosened from their rest- 
ing-places of centuries, came whizzing 
down as if shot from a catapult. 

Many leagues to the east shone the white 
walls and towering Campaniles of Puebla, 
"the city of the angels." Still farther arose 
the inaccessible peaks of Mount Orizaba. 
Silver threads of rivers stole down from the 



mountains and lost themselves in the foot- 
hills. Like a band of fairy sprites, whirl- 
ing wraiths of clouds circled around the 
dome of the White Woman, Iztaccihuatl. 
As we climbed still higher, Marion's 
right foot became numb as a board, the 
cold growing more and more severe. It was 
not until then that we had fully realized 




Down Popocatepetl on a toboggan 



56 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



our lack of preparation for the hazardous 
trip. Every time we fell on the icy crust of 
the snow, cutting our hands on the glasslike 
projections, we felt the need of spiked shoes 
and a pair of heavy mittens. And then the 
dense mists would sweep by us upward, 
chilling us to the bone. Whenever in this 
way we lost sight of one another, we 
would stand still 
and wait for the 
mist to clear. A 
snowslide started 
above us and went 
swirling down o n 
our left. The snow 
was exceedingly 
slippery and treach- 
erous. Had we fal- 
len, we would have 
tumbled into one of 
the deep ravines, or 
dashed down to Las 
Cruces with the 
speed of a runaway 
engine. At last, 
when our patience 
was as small as a 
mole-hill and our 
appetites as large 
as mountains, we 
dragged ourselves 
up a last fifty feet 
and crouched near 
one of the peaks at 
the crater's rim, 
called "Espinazo 
del Diablo" (the 
Devil's Backbone). 
From here we salu- 
ted Vaughan below 

with cheers that never reached him. The 
diameter of this vast crater is fully half a mile. 
A little green sulphur pleasure-lake, some 
thirty yards in length, lies at the bottom of 
this yawning cauldron, whence fifty fuma- 
roles, or vents, are constantly pouring forth 
their deadly fumes. A primitive malacate, 
or winch, stood at the edge of the crater, 
showing how the sulphur had been hoisted. 
Workmen here, if they carried life-insur- 
ance policies, would soon break the com- 




Climbing "Sacro Monte" on her knees 
Amecameca, Mexico 



pany, unless an injunction were obtained 
restraining clumsy chunks of the rim from 
tumbling into the pit, stopping for a mo- 
ment on their way to demolish the cave 
where a shift of sulphur-eaten miners slept. 
As we were suffering greatly from the 
cold, we did not attempt any descent into 
the mixing -bowl five hundred feet below; 
we did not tarry 
long to consider the 
forces that threw up 
this bulbous mass 
and left a vent for 
the angry monster 
within; nor could 
we contemplate 
with a Baron Hum- 
boldt the thousands 
of square miles visi- 
ble from this aerial 
watch - tower, for 
thick flakes of snow 
began to fall. As 
far as the snow-line 
w e almost crept, 
descending. From 
there we went in 
long, hungry leaps 
down over the vol- 
canic sand. At 
Tlamacas we found 
Vaughan and the 
guide holding 
Quaker meeting. 
Five minutes later 
we were mounted 
and on our way 
back to Ameca- 
meca, our faces red 
as beets from the 
glare of the sun on the snow. We rode 
back, as we wanted to catch our train back 
to Mexico City that night. The guide swore 
up and down and to right and left that it 
was impossible, but we set him a break- 
neck pace down the mountain over glazed 
rocks and twisted pines. We drew up in 
Amecameca in time to catch our train, 
after paying the monopolistic landlady 
fifty cents apiece for a cubic inch of pie 
and a gulp of coffee. 



THE HISTORICAL PICTURES OF 
FRANK O. SMALL* 

By WILLIAM MacDONALD 






AIN TINGS with historical 
subjects ought, by general ad- 
mission, to possess at least 
two primary characteristics. 
They should be, in both scene 
and detail, historically accurate so far as 
accuracy in either respect is attainable ; and 
they should also be works of art. Critical 
opinion has, indeed, differed as to which 
of these qualities should be most empha- 
sized, or allowed to have, in a final judg- 
ment, the greater weight. Artistic pose or 
grouping, vivid portrayal of situation or 
emotion, striking embodiment of the spirit 
of time or place, have not seldom given dis- 
tinction and permanent recognition to 
paintings whose fidelity to historical truth 
does not bear close examination. On the 
other hand, faithful delineation of facts has 
as often produced works of admitted in- 
terest and value, notwithstanding this lack 
of the higher artistic qualities. That the 
two virtues of accuracy and art, however, 
should, if possible, both exist in the same 
picture is so far a truism as to need no dem- 
onstration. Neither artist nor historian can 
view with permanent interest or delight a 
painting which purports to be what it is 
not, or which sacrifices historical truthful- 
ness for the sake of mere artistic effect. 

Teachers of history, especially those 
whose pupils are young children, have not 
infrequently spoken in condemnation of so- 
called "fancy" pictures, meaning thereby 
pictures which, however historically accu- 
rate in this or that detail, are not veritable 
representations, capable of verification at 
every point, of the scenes which they osten- 
sibly portray. Some of the best-known 
historical paintings, admittedly the prod- 
ucts of artistic genius, have been pulled 
down and cast out by these iconoclasts. No 
one, for example, so far as we know, 
sketched on the spot the crossing of the 
Delaware by Washington and his men; 

* The pictures which illustrate this article are copyrighted, 



accordingly, though we know that that 
event actually occurred at a particular 
time and place in the Revolutionary War, 
our ignorance of the shape and size of the 
boat in which Washington himself was, 
or of just where in the craft he stood, or of 
just how many companions he had, forbids 
us to accord historical significance or value 
to any alleged representation of that famous 
scene. No photographer was present to 
"snap" the burial of De Soto; hence we 
may make merry over the artists who show 
the companions of the explorer lowering 
his body to its watery grave, sometimes 
from one side of the canoe, sometimes from 
the other. The impressionable minds of 
the young must be protected, in the interest 
of historical truth, from the perverting in- 
fluence of the artists' imagination.. 

Obviously, the logical inference from 
such extreme insistence upon historical fi- 
delity would seem to be the repudiation, at 
least for instructive purposes, of all pictures 
not drawn directly from life. The photog- 
rapher displaces the artist, and becomes 
the one sure reliance of the historian. That 
such is the narrow province of historical 
delineation, few, I think, would seriously 
care to maintain. No more in art than in 
morals is one excused for tithing mint, 
anise, and cummin while neglecting the 
weightier matters of the law. What one asks 
of the historical painter is not, primarily 
and chiefly, accuracy of detail; for accu- 
racy, so far as available sources make ac- 
curacy possible, is rather a quality to be 
assumed. The larger and deeper question 
is, Has the artist caught the very spirit and 
temper of the scene which he fixes upon his 
canvas? Has he seized a typical moment 
or event? Does he truly picture, in general 
setting and character as well as in minu- 
tiae, a past time? Might the scene which 
he portrays, though unsketched by any of 
those who witnessed it, nevertheless actu- 

and are reproduced here by permission of Brown University. 

57 



HISTORICAL PICTURES OF FRANK O. SMALL 



59 



ally have happened in this very way? If 
these questions can be answered in the 
affirmative, then the picture, though still 
the product of "fancy," is a contribution to 
historical understanding, a worthy aid to 
knowledge and appreciation of the days 
that have gone before. 

Through the generosity of Mr. Samuel 
Morris Conant, of Pawtucket, Rhode Island, 
the Department of History in Brown Uni- 
versity has recently come into possession 
of a collection of fourteen historical paint- 
ings by Mr. Frank O. Small, which pre- 
sent numerous points of interest for his- 
torical students and artists. The pictures, 
representing subjects in early American 
history, are canvasses of large size. They 
were originally painted as the bases of il- 
lustrations for a volume entitled "Stepping- 
Stones of American History," a coopera- 
tive work by such well-known writers as 
Mr. Reuben G. Thwaites, Dr. George 
Hodges, Mr. Edwin D. Mead, Mr. Henry 
Cabot Lodge, and Hon. John D. Long. 
The volume was published in 1904 by the 
W. A. Wilde Company of Boston. In Jan- 
uary, 1905, the pictures were exhibited at 
the Boston Public Library, where they at- 
tracted marked attention. Upon their 
transfer to Brown University, they were 
exhibited for a week at the Providence Art 
Club, and are now hung temporarily in 
the Faculty-room of the university. Their 
permanent resting-place will probably be 
the historical seminary rooms to be pro- 
vided for in the new John Hay Memorial 
Library. 

Taken as a whole, one is struck at once 
with the brilliant coloring, the large num- 
ber of figures, the effective grouping, and 
the careful drawing. A critic has spoken of 
the almost tinlike brilliancy of some of 
Mr. Small's earlier work — a defect which 
he has avoided in this group of pictures, 
notwithstanding the free use of vivid tints 
and the striking contrasts of light and shade. 
The interposition of a sharply defined 
block of color upon a broad expanse is an 
effectively used device for impressing both 
color and distance, especially in sky effects ; 
and the numerous figures do not crowd. 
In point of detailed accuracy the artist has 
spared no pains. Costumes, furniture, im- 
plements, and weapons are reproduced, as 
far as possible, from originals or from con- 
temporary models and prints, or from the 



works of recognized authorities; while the 
figures of persons follow, though they do 
not copy, well-known contemporary or early 
paintings where such are obtainable. Not 
every painter will make a journey to meas- 
ure and sketch an ancient flintlock or a 
colonial pulpit, or devote painstaking care 
to the details of dress ; but a minute study 
of Mr. Small's work shows how thoroughly 
he has fortified himself in these respects. 
Had the paintings no other merit, they 
would repay study as examples of historical 
reproduction. 

To speak briefly of the separate pictures : 
the first in chronological order, and one of 
the most interesting of the collection, is 
"Columbus." The discoverer is repre- 
sented as standing at night near the bow 
of his vessel, peering anxiously into the 
darkness for the long-awaited indication 
of land. The time is near the end of the 
voyage, when the crew, timid, disheart- 
ened, and mutinous, are on the point of 
rebellion. Grouped about the foremast, 
their figures lighted up by a lantern carried 
on the port bow, are four sailors, their sul- 
len, brutal faces speaking only too plainly 
their willingness to throw overboard the 
intrepid commander who stands with his 
back towards them, a few paces distant. 
The head of Columbus is drawn from the 
Uffizi portrait and that in the Marine 
Museum at Madrid. 

Painful in its vivid reminder of a social 
condition now, happily, long since and for- 
ever passed away, but remarkable as a piece 
of drawing and coloring, is "The First 
Slave Market." The scene is the sale at 
Jamestown, in 161 9, of the first company 
of African negroes brought to this country 
as slaves. A negro, naked, stands upon a 
hogshead with his back to the spectator, his 
tall, muscular figure sharply outlined against 
a sky of brilliant blue. Before him is a mot- 
ley group of curious colonists, listening to 
the trader, who is descanting upon the qual- 
ities of his property; while just beyond is 
the stockade, with the masts of the Dutch 
vessel showing above. The same subject 
has been treated by Howard Pyle in an il- 
lustration which appears in Woodrow Wil- 
son's "History of the American People," 
but with the difference that while Mr. Pyle 
pictures a group of slaves huddled together 
on the shore, Mr. Small chooses the more 
vivid moment of sale. 





A Salem Witch Trial 



HISTORICAL PICTURES OF FRANK O. SMALL 



61 



Of a wholly different sort is the picture 
entitled "A Dutch Fur-Trader among the 
Indians." An Indian, naked to the waist, 
but imposing in paint and feathers, has 
thrown upon the table in the trader's cabin 
some furs, over whose price he and the 
trader are haggling. By his side, wrapped 
in a blanket, stands another savage silently 
watching the transaction, while the mem- 
bers of the trader's family are grouped 
about the fireplace at the right. That the 
Indian will probably part with his furs for 
the string of trinkets which the trader dan- 
dles in his hand is a foregone conclusion. 
The coloring in this picture is warm and 
rich, and the entire effect extremely at- 
tractive. 

The gem of the collection, perhaps, is 
"The Return of the Mayflower." The 
scene is the beach at Plymouth, with Man- 
omet Point in the distance. There a group 
of Pilgrims, with bared heads, bow rever- 
ently while Elder Brewster offers prayer, 
none venturing to look at the Mayflower, 
which is disappearing on the horizon. The 
figure of Brewster, the centre of the group, 
standing out prominently against a back- 
ground of sky and sea, is singularly noble 
and impressive; while the pose of the entire 
group is so natural as to conceal the artis- 
tic skill of its composition. I do not know 
of any picture which so admirably illus- 
trates the simplicity, courage, steadfastness, 
and romance of the Pilgrim Fathers, or 
which enforces so touchingly the isolation 
and loneliness of their first months in the 
new world. 

It is not from mere accident or local 
pride that the early history of New Eng- 
land has appealed to later generations as 
the most romantic and, in some respects 
at least, the most interesting in American 
colonial annals. Our New England fore- 
fathers, however difficult to get on with at 
times, no doubt, united in unusual measure 
religious assurance, moral earnestness, 
and an instinctive feling for common ac- 
tion — qualities which, in every age of the 
world, have proved more fascinating and 
inspiring than the incidents of industrial 
activity. "They live by the air," said an 
enemy of the Puritans, "and there they 
build churches and palaces, for none on 
earth can satisfy them." 

It is not surprising, therefore, that five 
of Mr. Small's pictures should draw their 



subjects from New England. Who, for 
example, that has known a small New Eng- 
land town, even of to-day, can fail to catch 
the spirit of "A New England Town Meet- 
ing," as it picturesquely recalls that unique 
forum for political debate and agitation, 
that school for the training of citizens, to 
which, next to religion, New England 
chiefly owes the public spirit which char- 
acterizes it? The summons by beat of 
drum, the preliminary discussions outside 
the place of meeting, and the absorbed at- 
tention of children recall vividly a drama 
whose scenes have not yet ceased to be 
acted even in these days of railroads, mills, 
and foreign immigration. 

In "A Salem Witch Trial" the cold, 
cheerless interior of the room, with its un- 
relieved spaces of bare, dead wall, effect- 
ively enhance the dreadful features of a 
scene in which justice, mercy, and reason 
were alike renounced, and ignorance, cre- 
dulity, terror, and vindictiveness combined 
to condemn the innocent and weak. Mr. 
Small can be pitilessly, almost brutally, 
realistic, and he is so here, as he is in "The 
Death of King Philip," where the savage 
monarch, shot in the back by a contempt- 
ible renegade of his own race, lies face 
downward in the pool of water into which 
he has fallen, while an unmoved colonist 
beckons his followers to come and view 
this "crowning mercy." 

Colonial Pennsylvania is represented by 
a striking group showing the presentation 
to William Penn of the formal tokens of 
possession of the Quaker colony. Amid 
the joyous acclamations of a picturesque 
group of colonists, and in sight of the ves- 
sel from which he has landed, Penn re- 
ceives from the representatives of the Duke 
of York the key to the fort at New Castle, 
together with "turf and twig, water and 
soil." 

From the period of the French wars, Mr. 
Small has chosen the incident of "British 
Soldiers Scaling the Cliffs at Quebec." 
The brilliant scarlet of the soldiers' uni- 
forms, drawn in a long, sinuous line through 
the centre of the picture, makes one of the 
most striking color-effects in the collection; 
while the cliff itself, whose top and slope 
fill the greater part of the canvas, is a 
strong piece of nature-painting. 

None of the military operations of the 
Revolution are treated in this collection, 



y$ 



HHHI » 




A New England Town Meeting 



HISTORICAL PICTURES OF FRANK O. SMALL 



63 



though the field is one which artists have 
worked but little. The three pictures which 
deal with the Revolutionary period are 
" Samuel Adams Denouncing the Tea 
Duty," "Washington and Lafayette," and 
"Washington Taking Leave of His Offi- 
cers." The first of these shows Adams 
standing in the Old South Meeting-house, 
the bare room dimly lighted by candles on 
the table at his side. Before him is Rotch, 
the consignee of the tea, listening to the 
ultimatum of the patriot leader; and be- 
hind him the eager, determined throng of 
townspeople waiting for the word which 
will let vengeance have its way. The dig- 
nified figure of Adams, drawn from the 
Stuart painting in the Boston Athenaeum, is 
impressively set off by the darkened room 
and the just discerned sections of pulpit 
and gallery. 

The picture of the first meeting of Wash- 
ington and Lafayette, in August, 1777, 
based upon the account in Sparks's "Life 
of Washington," shows the two men con- 
versing after dinner, somewhat apart from 
the rest of the company, who are about 
leaving the room. The details of costume 
and furniture here are especially worth 
studying, as is the doorway, drawn from the 
contemporary Chase House at Annapolis. 



The impressive farewell of Washington is 
another fine example of figure-grouping, 
not less than seventeen figures, among them 
Greene, Lincoln, Heath, Knox, Steuben, 
and Morgan being gathered about the re- 
tiring commander-in-chief as, with raised 
glass, he pledges their health. 

Two pictures complete the series. "The 
Signing of the Constitution" has as its cen- 
tre the figures of Washington and Frank- 
lin, the latter seated at the table in the act 
of signing, while the former stands by his 
side. Among the others present are Dick- 
inson, Hamilton, Sherman, Madison, and 
Morris. The last picture in chronological 
order is "Daniel Boone." He is standing 
alone and self-contained on a rocky height 
in Kentucky, surveying a West in whose 
discovery and exploration he was a ro- 
mantic leader, and whose conquest for civ- 
ilization he was destined in considerable 
part to see. 

Time alone, of course, can fix Mr. 
Small's place among historical painters. 
Beyond his unquestioned artistic power, 
however, he must be credited with the rare 
gift of historical imagination; and of this 
the pictures of which Brown University is 
the fortunate possessor afford a notable 
illustration. 



THE TRIUMPH OF THE MAPLES 

By EDWARD WILBUR MASON 

In the rapt silence and the hush at spring 
The trees were born of April; then did rains 
Waken like silvery trumpets in their veins 

The tides of beauty that forever swing 

With music, upward building as they sing 

The green roofs of the world; then came with strains 
Sweet minstrels to the boughs; in leafy lanes 

Then did the bees and butterflies take wing. 

But now the brief umbrageous hour is done, 
And summer ends like story that is told. 
Yet fairer in the chill autumnal breath 
The maples grow. Lo, snatching from the sun 
A fire Promethean of red and gold, 

They flame defiance in the face of death! 



DREAMS IN JEOPARDY 

A WELSH STORY 
By JEANNETTE MARKS 




EDR EVANS dove into the 
contents of a box of picture 
post -cards; from the shop- 
counter all that could be seen 
of him was the back of broad 
shoulders, two inches of sturdy neck, well- 
shaped ears, and a thatch of brown hair. 
The box, which was large and placed on a 
shelf behind the counter, gave evidences to 
the person who could peek over the counter 
and around Pedr of being in an alarming 
state of disorder. Apparently the man 
fumbling among the cards intended to re- 
arrange them; at least, some line of the fig- 
ure suggested that this was the impression 
he wished to convey. But it was as if he 
were running his hands through sand, for 
the postals slipped from his fingers and fell 
in even greater confusion. A woman who 
had entered the shop door looked at his back 
a second, — she had seen a rim of the face as 
it turned quickly away, — smiled, lifted her 
eyebrows, and stuck her tongue into one 
heavily tinted cheek. 

" 'Ts, 'ts," she hissed, behind her teeth. 
Pedr wheeled about; in turning he caught 
the corner of his box of postals and over 
they went upon the floor. 

"Wei indeed, Catrin Griffiths," he said, 
with an attempt at composure. 

"Aye, it's me," she answered, airily. 
"Ffi! Playin' cards, Pedr Evans ? Um-m, 
what would Nelw Parry be sayin' ?" 

Pedr colored and shifted his weight. 

"No, puttin' the stock in order," he ob- 
jected. 

"Yes? Wei, an' playin' you didn't see 
me? Yes?" 

Catrin patted the puffs of yellow hair 
that projected from under her pink hat and, 
placing a finger on her lips, smiled insin- 
uatingly at Pedr. It was evident as she 
stood before him that she considered herself 
alluring, a charming embodiment of the 
world and the flesh and the devil. Of that 
world, it was rumored, Pedr Evans knew 
64 



something ; at least he had made excursions 
into it: he had been to Liverpool, nay, he 
had been even further, for he had been to 
London. London! The word chimed as 
merrily in Catrin's ears as coronation bells. 
London ! Pedr Evans had been to London, 
and the magic word had been in more 
mouths than Catrin's. There was never a 
question asked in Conwy, climbing by de- 
grees to the wise men of the village and still 
failing an answer, but people would say, 
"Aye, wel indeed, we dunno, but Pedr 
Evans he 's been to London, an' he '11 know, 
whatever." Catrin Griffiths had seen him 
mount the London coach and she had seen 
him return. And by a method of reasoning 
wholly her own she had concluded that he 
would appreciate her, for she, Catrin Grif- 
fiths, had seen something of that world, too; 
she had seen highly colored prints of Pic- 
cadilly, the 'busses with gay people a-top, 
and fine ladies in their carriages clad in 
cloaks and furs and furbelows, throats and 
wrists bejewelled in a marvellous fashion; 
and such fine gentlemen driving the car- 
riages! And, what is more, she had spelled 
painfully through the English, in which her 
tongue was stiff, of a beautiful romance, 
"Lady Nain's Escape." Catrin considered 
her worldly schooling of colored pictures, a 
novel, and advertisements, the best, and 
with an occasional shilling sent to Liver- 
pool she had literally applied this tuition to 
her face and figure. She realized, however, 
that there were still worlds for her to con- 
quer and a far, enchanted land called 
Drawing-room into which she had not as 
yet had even a lithographic peep. Because 
she longed for greater nearness to this king- 
dom, therefore she longed for Pedr. As she 
stood before him, her pink hat on her yellow 
hair, her painted face thick with chalk, her 
lips a glossy carmine, her throat embedded 
in fluffs of cheap tulle, her figure stuffed into 
an ancient suit of white serge, she was won- 
dering how it would be possible for any 



DREAMS IN JEOPARDY 



65 



man to resist her. But the man whom she 
ogled blushed; he looked furtively towards 
the windows and at the door at the back of 
the shop, and it was plain to be seen that he 
felt himself caught in a trap between his 
counter and the shelf. He seemed ashamed 

— ashamed to look at her. 

"Wei, Catrin," he said, without lifting 

his eyes, "what can I do for you to-day?" 

"Dear anwyl, it's most slipped my mind 

— um-m — wel, I'll be havin' sixpence 
worth of writin'-paper." 

"Aye, smooth, I suppose?" he asked, 
taking it from the shelf. 

"No, I think; I'll take it rough, for that's 
the style now, whatever." 

"Oh, very well." 

"Been takin' photographs lately, Pedr?" 

"Not many." 

"I'm thinkin' you'll be goin' down 
Caerhun way some day soon," she con- 
tinued, her pink face wrinkling with mingled 
mirth and deviltry; "it's very pretty there, 
good for an artist like you." 

Pedr folded in the ends of the parcel and 
said nothing. 

"Aye," she went on, "an' there's an old 
church there, with a bell-tower that looks 
over the wall like an eye; it don't wink, 
Pedr, but I'm thinkin', indeed, it could tell 
a good deal, if it had a mind to. It 's next to 
the church the Parrys used to live." 

Pedr, tying the parcel and snapping the 
string, maintained his silence. 

"It's there old Parry used to be drunk as 
a faucet; aye, an', Pedr," she whispered, "I 
could be tellin' you somethin' else. Nelw 
Parry — " 

"Twt," said Pedr, angrily, "here's your 
parcel, Catrin Griffiths. You'll have to be 
excusin' me this mornin', for I'm busy." 

"Pw, busy!" and Catrin laughed shrilly. 
"You're always busy when there's a men- 
tion of Nelw Parry. Wel, ask Nelw herself 
what it is she can tell you that you don't 
know. Perhaps you'll be wantirC to know 
before you marry her." 

And with a flounce Catrin Griffiths betook 
herself out of the shop. 

Pedr with his back to the counter was the 
same as Pedr with his face to the shop door; 
however, he did not seem the same. The 
back suggested middle age, but the face was 
the face of a boy in its expression, with 
something perennially young about it — it 
may have been innocence or untouched 



pride or something that looked from his 
eyes as if they had been those of a mere girl. 
The sentimentalist, rather than have him 
selling writing-paper, would doubtless have 
preferred to see him reciting an awdl or, in 
the dress of an ancient bard, playing upon a 
harp. Indeed, except for a conscious awk- 
wardness of hand and a certain steadfast, 
almost impassive look about the mouth, he 
might have taken either part well. How- 
beit, he could neither play a harp nor recite 
an ode. And because he kept only a sta- 
tioner's shop which contained a fine medley 
of inferior post-cards scattered everywhere, 
piles of newspapers, books, shelves of letter- 
paper, trinkets of rustic and plebeian sort, 
it would not be safe to conclude that he was 
no more than a commonplace man. Be- 
cause he spent his leisure from the shop in 
taking pictures of the country he loved it 
would not be wise to decide that he was 
therefore a poor mediocre thing who had 
not brains enough to make even a very 
wretched artist, who was in short a mere 
factotum to higher ability. Pedr's shop, 
which lay on a steep, winding cobblestone 
street next to the Cambrian Pill Depot, five 
doors down from Plas Mawr and twenty 
doors up from the Castle Gate, was tenanted 
by dreams as fair and holy in service — al- 
though they never found their way into the 
world except by means of sensitized paper 
or by an occasional expression in Pedr's eyes 
or tremble of his impassive lips — this shop 
was tenanted by dreams as fair as any 
which had ever waited upon accepted 
painter or poet. They had a habit of tip- 
toeing about unseen, so that the usual cus- 
tomer who entered Pedr's door would not 
have felt their presence. Nelw Parry had 
come to know them well, but before Catrin 
Griffiths they vanished away. The lovely 
color of dawn itself was not gobbled up 
faster by the smoke of trade than these en- 
tities disappeared at the sound of Catrin 
Griffiths' heels upon the street. In fact, 
the tiny beings were troubled by the pres- 
ence even of post-cards; for, dream-like, 
they wished to give all they had, if need be, 
to the hearts seen beating through the 
hands that held them, and these cards lying 
upon the floor, these flaunting things of 
many colors, were commerce — things, they 
thought, which were to steal something 
from men. Over that counter, whence a 
few minutes ago he had recoiled, Pedr 



66 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



Evans had often leaned, with many invis- 
ible eyes smiling upon him, taking from 
some old folio pictures which had the very 
lustre of the sky; or the mingled shadow 
and iridescence of a hillside, mysteriously 
suggestive of the sea ; or some flow and sub- 
sidence of light itself. Like any other mor- 
tal, poor Pedr had to live, and that is why 
he kept a shop next to the Cambrian Pill 
Depot. But it was not any necessity of ex- 
istence which made him lean upon the 
counter showing a picture another man 
never would have had the wit to take. To 
Pedr something beautiful was always worth 
the plate, so he had many pictures no one 
bought and he was not often given a chance 
to show. 

Later in the day, after his encounter with 
Catrin Griffiths, Pedr was with Nelw Parry 
in the sitting-room of the Raven Temper- 
ance, drinking tea. Nelw's house was a 
quaint stuccoed building with a quantity of 
chimney-pots sticking up into the sky, neat 
steps and a brass sill at the front door, a 
painted sign, "Raven Temperance," and 
printed cards at the windows, one bearing a 
cyclist's wheel decorated with mercurial 
wings, the other the gratifying word "Re- 
freshments." Within the room were two 
people, both middle-aged, drinking tea — a 
commonplace enough scene, the casual ob- 
server would have said; however, at that 
moment these two people, even if they were 
doing nothing more romantic than talking 
quietly together, lifting their tea-cups once 
in a while and looking at each other a great 
deal, were very much like good children in a 
fairy-tale. It may have been merely a trick 
of the light due to the low casement-win- 
dows that the room seemed more peaceful 
than most rooms in Conwy. The subdued 
light touched the soft green walls gently, 
reaching for the top as if it were some en- 
chanted region to enter which it must climb. 
Indeed, it was an enchanted region, for there 
a shining silver river ran in and out, in and 
out, among alleys of green trees. In and 
out, in and out, it ran noiselessly, and yet it 
seemed to Pedr, as to some strangers who 
entered the little room for refreshments, to 
sing a song heard before — just when, just 
how, was another question. Some visitors 
who had been in that room once came again 
to sit, often bodily weary, while their eyes 
travelled to that border of the shining river 
and, the mistress of The Raven waited 



upon them tranquilly, placing the service 
before them, and it may be adjusting a wrap 
about a stranger's shoulders as delicately as 
if she were adding to the comfort of some 
happy fancy, some ideal, some dream, that 
a burdened touch might shatter. Grateful, 
there were tired travellers glad to come and 
go phantom-like, putting down their silver 
gently, in a room where reality seemed the 
greatest phantom of all. 

To Pedr it was better than the best picture 
he had ever taken — better than the best, 
because the thought of taking it would have 
seemed like desecration. He looked at 
Nelw, as he did every few seconds, alter- 
nately over his tea-cup and then without 
that barrier to his gaze. Coils of dark hair 
made the shapely head heavy on the slender 
neck, as if the weight of that abundant 
beauty were great. It was wonderful hair, 
making in its shadowy depth a shade for 
the white, sensitive face, quiet as the revery 
of her eyes. In a land where comely hair 
blessed poor and rich alike with its wealth, 
Nelw Parry's was even lovelier than that of 
her neighbors. It had one peculiarity, how- 
ever, which her neighbors did not admire, 
but which to Pedr — perhaps to something 
untutored in Pedr — was dear. Around the 
edges of its abundance little curls escaped. 

"Nelw," he said, glancing at her wist- 
fully, "they're prettier than ever." 

She brushed the curls back and looked at 
him with reproach, as if something she was 
thinking about, or something of which they 
had been talking, had been rudely disturbed. 
As an actual matter of fact, they had been 
saying nothing for two or three minutes, 
indulging the speechlessness of those who 
know their way even by day to another land. 
But Pedr was aware what sort of answer any 
remark about Nelw's hair always fetched, so 
he changed the subject. 

"Dearie, Catrin Griffiths was in the shop 
this mornin'." 

"What was she wantin'?" 

"I dunno; she bought sixpence worth of 
writin '-paper," replied Pedr, regarding 
Nelw with the air of a man who would like 
to say more. He was wondering how much 
she guessed of Catrin 's angling. 

A shadow of annoyance passed over 
Nelw's face. 

"Dearie," he continued, encouraged by 
her expression, "I can't like her, whatever; 
she's — she's not nice." 



DREAMS IN JEOPARDY 



67 



"Wei indeed, she's smart," answered 
Nelw, gently. 

"Twt! smart in those things she wears? 
She looks more than frowzy to me; an' — an' 
she's always comin' into my shop." 

"Druan bach," murmured Nelw, her face 
tender with pity. 

Pedr observed her wonderingly. What 
prompted this compassion in Nelw ? What 
made her understand weakness without be- 
ing disgusted or repelled by its ugliness? 
Other women were not like her in this re- 
| spect. And just behind the yielding lovable- 
ness that yearned over the mistakes of 
others, that reached out to Pedr as one 
athirst for the necessity of life, that clung 
to Pedr for strength, for protection, like a 
child afraid of the dark, what was this sense 
he had of an obstinate reticence which 
seemed the very resiliency of her mysterious 
nature ? Certainly she had had a bitter life. 
Then, like a viper into its nest, what Catrin 
Griffiths had said darted into Pedr's mind. 
Was there something he did not know, that 
he ought to know? With the acuteness of 
the man who can detect the shadow even of 
a folded leaf he searched Nelw's face. Why, 
when she needed him, when she was alone, 
when she was fretted by the difficulties of 
her solitary life, why did she always put off 
their marriage ? Baffled, irritated, he spoke 
sharply. 

" Druan bach, no thin' ! It 's a pound head 
an' a ha'penny tail with Catrin Griffiths." 

Nelw gasped. 

"A pound head an' a ha'penny tail, I 
say," he continued, roughly. "Aye, an' the 
time is comin', comin' soon, when she '11 get 
herself into trouble, flauntin' around with 
those frocks on, all decked out, an' all her 
false seemin', her face painted an' pow- 
dered, an' her hair dyed. The deceitful 
thing!" 

"Och, Pedr, don't." 

But Pedr, excited beyond self-control by 
the workings of his imagination, could not 
stop. The blanching face before him was 
no more than a cipher; it expressed nothing 
to him. 

"Twt! that I will. An' what is it Catrin 
Griffiths knows an' I don't ? Yes ? " 

There was a cry of "Pedr!" Nelw shiv- 
ered; her eyes widened and stared at him. 
It was so still in that room that the flutter 
of the draft sucking the smoke up the chim- 
ney could be heard. Pedr sat motionless in 



his chair, the reality of what he had done 
yet to reach him. Nelw moved, and in an 
instant he was beside her. 

"Dearie, dearie, what have I done?" 

"Och, nothin' — nothin' at all," she an- 
swered, her face twitching. 

"But I did. Och, I was beside myself! 
I did n't know what I was sayin'." Pedr 
paused; he looked at Nelw longingly. 
"Nelw, little lamb, is it someihirC I ought to 
know?" 

"It's nothin', nothin' at all," she replied, 
her eyes still staring at him, her hands lying 
open upon her lap, palms up. And there 
she sat and sighed and sighed, refusing to 
answer any of Pedr's questions, and, every 
once in a while, moaning, "Not him, dear 
God, och! not him!" 

At dark every day, and every day in the 
year except Sunday, and year after year, the 
servant had brought the lights into Pedr 
Evans's stationery-shop and, setting them 
down, had gone back to the kitchen. This 
evening, as she went into the room, scarcely 
knowing whether her master was in or not, 
everything had been so noiseless she started, 
for there he sat, his head in his hands. Ex- 
cept for a slight disturbance when Pedr en- 
tered his shop, which it is probable no other 
human ear would have heard, there had not 
been a sound, until Betsan came in. Nelw's 
"Nothin', nothin' at all" had been going 
around and around in his mind like a turn- 
buckle tightening up his thoughts till it 
seemed to him they would snap. Then it 
would be, "What has she done, what has 
she done ?" He had known her in her sen- 
sitiveness to exaggerate;, she had confided 
to him some of the incidents of her child- 
hood, which would have been taken quietly 
enough by other children. But he was un- 
able to reason away the horror that had 
looked out from her face to-day. And he, 
Pedr Evans, had asked the question that 
had brought that expression — a question 
suggested by a woman of whom even to 
think in the same moment was to dishonor 
Nelw! He wondered what it was^ that 
crawled into a man's mind and made him do 
a thing like that. 

Betsan had barely closed the door into 
the kitchen when, like the vision of the 
woman who tempted St. Augustine, Catrin 
Griffiths stood before him, the shrewd ogling 
eyes looking at him out of the painted face. 
The question, the answer to which was of 



68 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



more concern to him than anything else on 
earth, surged back upon him and stifled 
him and beat in his temples and his ears till 
it seemed as if he could not breathe. Catrin 
coughed. 

"Um-m, Pedr Evans, I forgot the envel- 
opes this mornin'." 

"Wei indeed," he replied, mechanically. 

"Aye," she affirmed. Then asked, "Did 
you see Nelw Parry this afternoon ?" know- 
ing that he had done so, for her room was 
opposite The Raven. 

"Yes," he said. 

"What was she tellin' you, eh, what? 
She's not so unlike me, yes?" 

Pedr looked at her, his mind at a bow- 
and-string tension of expectancy. 

"She did n't tell you, I see," Catrin con- 
tinued. "Wei, may every one pity the poor 
creature ! You '11 be wantin' to know, so — " 

But Catrin Griffiths never got any further, 
for with a leap Pedr was upon her. 

" Out of my shop, girl, out," and she was 
bundled through the door and the door 
slammed behind her and locked. 

Pedr's feeling of passionate anger against 
himself as well as against Catrin gradually 
settled. He must try to think. He would 
see no one else to-night, and turned out the 
lamps. For a minute the wicks flickered, 
purring odd jets of shadow onto the raftered 
ceiling. There was an instant of wavering 
flame, then darkness, and only the silvered 
window-panes looking into the obscure 
room like big, shining eyes. Pedr sat still, 
thinking, sighing and sighing. There were 
vague rustling noises in the shop ; every time 
he sighed it seemed as if the noises quivered 
together like dry leaves. What would it ever 
matter to him now what happened ? With- 
out warning he had been robbed of his hap- 
piness — even time never could have proved 
such a thief, for time was no common plun- 
derer; if it took away, often it put something 
far more precious in its place. Pedr had 
always liked to think what time meant to 
anything lastingly beautiful: he loved the 
houses better when they were old, the 
thought that they had been attractive to 
others, had held many joys and even sor- 
rows, made them beautiful to him ; he liked 
the lines in an old face — somehow they 
made it merrier, made it sweeter; even the 
yellowing of a photograph, for Pedr was 
limited in his subjects from which to draw 
illustrations, pleased him with some added 



softening of tone. Life with Nelw, as it 
wound towards the end of the road, would 
be, he had thought, ever more and more en- 
chanting, for just where the road dipped 
over into space there was the sky. Even 
death confirmed love. That last blessing it 
had to give — the greatest blessing of all. 
But now his mind must be forever like the 
track of the snail in the dust. It was no 
matter to him now what lay upon the hill- 
sides or within the valleys; the heavy domed 
shadows of foliage trees, the shadow of 
ripple upon ripple where the water wrinkles, 
were alike of little account. He sighed 
again and there was the same succession of 
small sounds, for he was not alone in the 
room. Hidden away in all the corners and 
nooks of the darkened shop were scores of 
little beings, once his comrades. Now they 
hid and trembled in their dark places, 
shrinking from Pedr, from whom it had 
been their wont to take what the all-power- 
ful hand offered. They well knew what 
tragedy might be coming to them, for of 
their race more had died in one age than of 
the race of man in all ages. But, like the 
children of men, till the moment of danger 
they had counted themselves secure; and 
now, when Pedr sighed, it was as if the sea 
went over them. They had always been so 
well off, however they had seen the fate of 
their kin, the wide, reachless waters that had 
unexpectedly surrounded them, the boiling 
of the waves, the calm, and the bodies float- 
ing to the surface, their wee, diaphanous 
hands empty of the hearts that once beat 
through them, their faces looking with 
closed eyes up into the everlasting day. As 
Pedr sighed again and again they shook 
now, their hands over their ears, in the dusty 
holes of the shop. At last Pedr sighed a 
mighty sigh, and it was like the shaking of 
the wind in a great tree. Although it was a 
mighty sigh, the little beings uncovered 
their ears, and with a new expression in 
their faces, leaned forward to hear it re- 
peated. It came once more. Then they 
crept softly out of their nooks and small re- 
cesses and dusty corners and stood tiptoe, 
waiting for the next sigh. It came, and the 
wind seemed to shake down lightly through 
the great tree with the most dulcet notes in 
all the world: whisperings and tremolos and 
flutings and pipings. At that the little beings 
ran from every part of the shop, and Pedr 
heard them coming; they clambered about 



DREAMS IN JEOPARDY 



69 



his knees, they climbed into his lap, and 
Pedr gathered them all into his arms — that 
is, as many as he could hold, and the rest 
seemed happy enough without being there. 

If the truth must be told, Pedr slept 
soundly that night, just like the most fortu- 
nate of lovers. And the next morning, after 
he had found fault with his breakfast and 
scolded Betsan for her late rising, he betook 
himself, with a far more cheerful heart than 
he had known in many hours, to Nelw's. 
Pedr in the darkened shop had learned a 
lesson which he would not have exchanged 
for any pure, unmixed joy upon earth. And 
he knew even now, with the sun upon him 
and a strange yearning within him, that it 
mattered very little what Nelw had done or 
was hiding from him; for, despite every 
dreadful possibility, he loved her with a feel- 
ing that mastered fear. 

When Nelw opened the door for him she 
shrank away. 

"Och, Pedr," she said, "so early!" 

"Wei indeed, so early," he replied, with 
an attempt at gaiety. 

"So now I must be tellin' you," she whis- 
pered, hanging her head, and looking, with 
her white face, ready to sink to the floor. 

"Indeed, dearie, you'll not be tellin' me, 
whatever," he declared, hotly. 

"Pedr!" she exclaimed, "but you said 
Catrin Griffiths — alas, I must tell you!" 
She lifted her hand as if she were going to 
point to something, and then dropped it. 

"I'm not carin' what I said about Catrin 
Griffiths or about any one else. Dear little 
heart, you 're makin' yourself sick over this, 
an'—" 

"Och, but I must tell you," and again 
came the futile motion of the hand. 

"You shall not!" he commanded. 

"Yes, now, now," she cried, lifting her 
hand, " Pedr, I — I have — " 

Pedr seized the uplifted hand. "No, 
Nelw, no," and he put his fingers over her 
mouth and drew her to him. 

"Pedr, I must, "she pleaded, struggling to 
free herself. 

"No, not now; I'm not carin' to know 
now. Wait until we're married." 

"Oh no, oh no!" Nelw moaned. "That 
would n't be fair to you. Och, if you 
knew — " 

But Pedr covered her mouth with his 
hand and drew her closer. 

"Not now, little lamb." 



She sat quite still, her head upon his 
shoulder. He felt her relaxing and heard 
her sighing frequently. She seemed so little 
and so light where she rested upon him, al- 
most a child, and a new sense of content- 
ment stole over Pedr. He patted her face; 
she made no reply, but he felt her draw 
nearer to him. At last she lifted her hand 
and passed it gently over his head. 

"Och," she whispered, "I'm growin' 
old." 

"Old, nothin'," replied Pedr. 

"Aye, but I'm over thirty." 

"Pw," returned Pedr, "that's nothin'." 

"Yes, it is; an' as I grew older you would 
mind even more if — " 

"Nelw," said Pedr, warningly, covering 
her mouth again. 

"But, Pedr, how could you love me when 
I 'd grown very old ? I would n't have any 
hair at all," she faltered, "an' not any 
teeth," she continued, gasping painfully, 
"an' — an' wrinkles an', oh — an' oh — 
dear!" she half sobbed. 

"Twt," said Pedr, calmly, "what of it? 
It's always that way, an' I'm thinkin' love 
could get over a little difficulty like that, 
whatever. Indeed, I'm thinkin' what with 
love an' time we'd scarcely notice it. I 
dunno," he added, reflectively, "if we did 
notice it, I'm thinkin' we'd love each other 
better." 

At these words Nelw smiled a little, as if 
she were forgetting her troubles. After a 
while she spoke: 

"You are comin' this afternoon again, 
Pedr, are you?" 

"Yes, dearie," he answered, "I'm 
comin'." 

"Och, an' it must — it must be told," 
she ended, forlornly. 

It was quiet up and down the winding 
cobblestone street; no two-wheeled carts 
jaunted by; there was no clatter of wooden 
clogs, no merriment of children playing, no 
noise of dogs barking. And all this quietude 
was due to the simple fact that people were 
preparing to take their tea, that within 
doors kettles were boiling, piles of thin 
bread and butter being sliced, jam — if the 
family was a fortunate one — being turned 
out into dishes, pound cake cut in delectably 
thick slices, and, if the occasion happened 
to need special honoring, light cakes being 
browned in the frying-pan. Previous to Jhe 



7° 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



actual consumption of tea, the men, their 
legs spread wide apart, were sitting before 
the fire, enjoying the possession of a good 
wife or mother who could lay a snowy cloth. 
And the children, having passed one strad- 
dling age and not having come to the next, 
were busy sticking hungry little noses into 
every article set upon the cloth — afraid, 
however, to do more than smell a foretaste 
of paradise. 

So the street, except for a gusty wind that 
romped around corners, was deserted. 
When Nelw Parry opened a casement on 
the second floor she saw not a soul. She 
looked up and down, up and down — no, 
there was not a body stirring. Then her 
head disappeared, and shortly one hand re- 
appeared and hung something to the sill. 
True, there was not a soul upon the street, 
but opposite The Raven Temperance, be- 
hind carefully closed lattice windows, sat a 
woman who saw everything. Catrin Grif- 
fiths had been waiting there some time to 
discover whether Pedr Evans would come 
to-day as he did other days at half after four. 
But when she beheld Nelw's hand reappear 
to hang something at the window, she 
jumped up, with a curious expression on her 
face, exclaiming, "A wonder! " and ran 
swiftly down-stairs and out into the street. 
Once in the street she gazed steadily at the 
object swinging from the casement of The 
Raven and again," Syndod ! " she ejaculated. 
She began to laugh in a harsh, low fashion, 
then shrilly and more shrilly. "Oh, the 
lamb!" she exclaimed. "Oh, the innocent!" 
Her hilarity increased, and she slapped her- 
self on the hip and finally held on to her 
bodice as if she would burst asunder. At 
the doors heads appeared ; some disappeared 
immediately upon discovering Catrin, but 
others thrust them out farther. 

"Dyn," she called, seeing Modlan Jones 
coming towards her, "there's Nelw Parry's 
cocyn." 

Modlan canted her head upwards towards 
the object and chuckled, "Ow, the idiot!" 

"Och, the innocent I" laughed Catrin. 
"'Ts, 'ts," she called to Malw Owens, who, 
munching bread, was approaching from a 
little alley-way, "Nelw Parry's cocyn 's un- 
furled at last, an' flappin' in the breeze." 

One by one a throng gathered under the 
walls of The Raven Temperance, and the 
explosions of mirth and the exclamations 
multiplied until the whole street rang with 



the boisterous noise, and one word, "Cocyn! 
Cocyn!" rebounded from lip to lip and wall 
to wall. But there were some who, coming 
all the way out of their quiet houses and see- 
ing the occasion of this mad glee, shook their 
heads sadly and said, "Druan bach, she's 
not wise!" and went in again. And there 
were others who passed by on the other side 
of the road, and they, too, muttered, 
"Druan bach!" pityingly, and if they were 
old enough to have growing sons cast glances 
none too kind at Catrin Griffiths. Evidently 
the "poor little thing" was not intended for 
her; but, indeed, they might have spared 
one for her, for it is possible she needed it 
more than the woman who lay indoors in a 
convulsion of tears. Suddenly, amidst the 
nudges and thrusts and sniggers and shrieks, 
Catrin clapped her hands together. 

"Taw," she bade, "now listen! I'll be 
fetchin' Pedr," and with a snort of amuse- 
ment from them all she was off down the 
street. 

What happened to Catrin before she 
reached Pedr's door will never be told. By 
the time she came to the Cambrian Pill 
Depot she was screwing her courage des- 
perately. Even the most callous have 
strange visitations of fear, odd forebodings 
of failure, and hang as devoutly upon Provi- 
dence as the most pious. It would be rob- 
bing no one to give Catrin a kind word or, 
indeed, a tear. Good words and tears are 
spent gladly upon a blind man; then why 
not upon Catrin, whose blindness was an 
ever-night far deeper ? She was but groping 
for something she thought she needed, for 
something to make her happier, as every 
one does. And now, as it often happens to 
the one who hugs his virtue as well as to the 
sinful, the road slipped suddenly beneath 
her feet and her thoughts were plunged for- 
ward into a dark place of fears. She who 
always had breath and to spare for the ex- 
pression of any vulgar or trivial idea which 
came to her could barely say, as she thrust 
her head in at the door of Pedr's shop, 
"Nelw Parry '11 be needin' you now." What 
she had intended to say was something quite 
different. 

It seemed an eternity to Pedr before, with- 
out any show of following Catrin too closely, 
he could leave the shop. The sounds of the 
jangling voices he was hearing mingled with 
the gusty wind that whistled around house- 
tops and corners and brushed roughly by 



DREAMS IN JEOPARDY 



7i 



him with a dismal sound. He walked with 
slow deliberateness, but his thoughts ran, 
courier-like, ever forward and before him. 
To his sight things had a peculiar distinct- 
ness, adding in some way to his foreknowl- 
edge, prescient with the distress he heard 
in the wind. He looked up to the casement 
towards which all eyes were directed. Some- 
thing attached to the sill whipped out in the 
wind and then flirted aimlessly to and fro. 
Pedr scanned it intently. Another gust of 
wind caught it, and again it spread out and 
Waved about glossily plume-like. Then for 
a moment, unstirred by the air, it hung limp 
against the houseside; it was glossy and 
black and — and — thought Pedr with a 
rush of comprehension — like a long strand 
of Nelw's hair. 

There were suppressed titters and sly 
winks as he came to the group before The 
Raven. 

"Ffi, the poor fellow, I wonder what he'll 
do now?" asked one. 

"Hush!" said another. 

"Wei indeed," answered a third, tapping 
her head significantly, "what would one ex- 
pect when she's not wise?" 

"He's goin' in," said a fourth. 

While all eyes were upon Pedr, Catrin 
Griffiths had slipped away from their 
midst, slid away along the wall, and stolen 
across the street. Some look upon Pedr's 
face was like a hot iron among her wretched 
thoughts, and hiss I hiss! hiss! it was 
cutting down through all those strings 
that had held her baggage of body and soul 
together. 

Pedr made his way into the house and to 
the couch where Nelw lay. 

"Nelw," he said. 

Nelw caught her breath between sobs. 

"Nelw," he repeated, gently, sitting down 
by her, "there, little lamb!" 

Nelw stopped crying. 



"Pedr, did you see?" she asked. 

" Did I see ? Yes, I saw your cocyn hang- 
in' to the window." 

Nelw sat up straight. "Do — do you 
understand, Pedr? Did you hear them 
mockin' me?" 

"Aye, an' I know it's your cocyn," Pedr 
smiled. "Little lamb, did you think that 
would make any difference?" 

"But, Pedr," she said, insistently, as if 
she must make him understand, "these 
curls are all I really — really have." She 
drew one out straight. 

"Aye, dearie, I 'm thinkin that is enough." 
Nelw's eyes grew wide. Pedr cocked his 
head critically to one side. "It's very 
pretty, whatever," he added. "I was al- 
ways likin' that part of your hair the best." 

And now there is no more story to tell, for 
Pedr set to work to get tea for Nelw. As he 
went in and out of a door sometimes they 
smiled at each other foolishly and some- 
times Pedr came near enough to pat her on 
the head. The room, although it would have 
been difficult to lay hands on the visitors, 
had other inmates, too; for it was full of 
Pedr's comrades. Every minute they in- 
creased in number, as is the way of the 
world when two people, even if they are not 
very wise — and of course they never will 
be wise if they are not by the time they are 
middle-aged — are joined together in love. 
And every one of these little visitors took the 
heart it held in its wee transparent hands 
and offered it to Nelw. And Nelw, as Pedr 
had done almost twenty-four hours ago, 
gathered the dreams into her arms, and 
there they lay upon her breast like the chil- 
dren they really were. And above this scene 
the shining silver river ran in and out, in 
and out among its alleys of green trees, 
singing a gentle song which, once it has been 
learned, can never be forgotten. 



JOB STANWOOD, SCOUT 



AT THE SIEGE OF LOUISBURG 



By THOMAS J. PARTRIDGE 




T was a crisp January day 
in the year 1745. The hills 
and large boulders that fea- 
tured the Cape Ann landscape 
were white with snow. A brief, 
sandy peninsula, the undermined drifts 
along its verge lying against the brown 
beaches like marble cornices, jutted into 
the roadstead. From its elevated extremity 
twelve cannon looked menacingly seaward. 
The road from Boston mounted a hill, 
sloped into the town, wound past long- 
sloping roofed houses with wide gaps be- 
tween them, past, here and there, the sub- 
stantial mansion of a merchant, and encir- 
cled the harbor. About the wharves men 
were busily engaged in pitching a recent 
catch of fish from the holds of small pink- 
ies, or spreading previous fares on long 
flakes to be seasoned by the sun. The largest 
pier on the water-front was flanked on 
either hand by two barks; one was discharg- 
ing a cargo of molasses, spices, and coffee; 
the other was taking on board drums, into 
which dried fish had been tightly screwed, 
for the markets of the West Indies. 

Plainly, something unusual was this day 
disquieting the citizens of the little seaport, 
for whichever way you looked you saw men 
wending their way toward a common cen- 
tre, — and the drift was toward the King's 
Head Tavern. Under its creaking sign a 
crowd of men, mostly young, pushed and 
jostled each other, or talked in excited 
groups apart. The notes of a bugle ringing 
clearly out on the winter air hushed every 
tongue, and brought the swaying crowd to 
a standstill. All eyes were immediately 
turned in the direction of the sound. The 
next moment the express from Boston came 
over the hill, and, descending the incline at 
a rate that threw the light snow in showers 
before the plunging hoofs of the horses, 
drew up in front of the tavern. The land- 
lord, portly and ruddy, appeared in the 
doorway; the reins fell into the hands of the 
72 



bustling hostler, and the crowd banked it- 
self around the foam-flecked team. 

"What saith the General Court, Ammi?" 
cried twenty in a breath. 

The crowd leaned forward. 

Rising stiffly, the driver paused a mo- 
ment as if enjoying his temporary impor- 
tance, then, clenching his fist, he said, 
"It 's war — war by a majority of one!" 

"The King — God bless him!" cried the 
landlord. 

"Shirley forever!" roared the crowd. 

"No, no!" came a dissenting cry. "It's 
Pepperill. He 's our man ! Hurrah for the 
Kittery tea-dealer!" 

The driver of the stage mounted the seat 
and, swinging his cap, led the cheering 

"God save the King, 
And long may he sway, 
East, north, and south, 
And all America." 

A lad of sixteen, well grown for his age, 
broke from the enthusiastic groups, ran up 
the long-terraced front of a mansion, vault- 
ed the fence of a wide kitchen garden, and 
reached the dooryard of a cottage in a rear 
street. Taking a pail from the banking 
of eel-grass by which the cottage was 
completely surrounded, he filled it at the 
well-sweep, a neglected task, and entered 
the kitchen out of breath. 

"I'm going to the war, mother," he 
cried. " Governor Shirley is going to attack 
Louisburg. They '11 laugh no more at the 
'Honeypinks' on training-days!" 

"More widows!" exclaimed the woman 
addressed. "What with French cannon- 
balls and the Georges shoal, we women 
will be like to man the fleet come Michel- 
mas." 

"More taxes!" said an old man, rising 
from his seat in the angle of the wide hearth. 
"Take English Harbor! His Excellency 
is mad ! Why, his Majesty himself, backed 
by every siege-gun in the Royal artillery, 



JOB STANWOOD, SCOUT 



73 



j couldn't take it! — What do you there, 
Job Stanwood?" 

The boy was reaching for the flint-lock 
musket suspended from the wall. Grasp- 
ing the weapon in both hands, his face flush- 
ing, the boy answered: "I'm going to ask 
the French, Grandsir, what they have done 
with the Kitty and her cargo. We will wipe 
I out this wasp's nest at Louisburg; they will 
sting us no more ; hereafter, please God, our 
'bankers' will bring home their fares in 
peace!" 

The boy's heat but typified the patriotic 
sentiments that were stirring every breast 
in the province of Massachusetts Bay. 
Here, in this fishing-port, the fire was cen- 
tral. Louisburg, a fortified French city on 
the island of Cape Breton, had been for 
years a standing menace to the fisheries of 
New England. Her privateers had preyed 
upon the fleet until the merchants of Salem 
and Gloucester could no more embark in 
their cherished industry with any hope of a 
gain. The bitter feeling was heightened 
day after day, as they saw Louisburg grow- 
ing in importance and the profits of their 
rich trade with Portugal, Spain, and the 
West Indies diverted into the coffers of 
French merchants. 

Job Stanwood had a personal score 
against the French. In one of their hos- 
tile excursions they had captured his father's 
smack and made them both prisoners, and 
somewhere in the harbor of Louisburg the 
Kitty was at anchor, with the " fleur-de-lys " 
waving over her. 

The facts leading up to the trouble ran 
In this wise: Frederick, King of Prussia, 
surnamed "The Great," invading the prov- 
inces of Marie Theresa, Queen of Hungary, 
fired two continents. 

He set Louis XV. and George II. by the 
ears, and the loyal subjects of each, in the 
old world and the new, immediately began 
to concoct schemes to distress and annoy 
each other. Up to this the French had had 
a little the better of the argument. New 
England's fishing-fleet were driven from 
the seas ; Canso had been captured ; Annap- 
olis was assailed; and now the citizens of 
the loyal town of Boston might be awakened 
at any moment by the roar of French can- 
non bombarding Castle William. In this 
state of affairs the people of the province 
of Massachusetts Bay were looking up to 
his Excellency, Governor William Shirley, 



Esq., in a filial way and asking, "What are 
you going to do about it?" 

"If the mother country cannot protect 
us," thought Sir William, "we must protect 
ourselves." 

Then came an inspiration. What if the 
best engineering skill in France had suc- 
ceeded in making of this Louisburg another 
Dunkirk! Did not great snow-blizzards 
frequently sweep over Cape Breton, whose 
drifts would obliterate the walls and fill 
the ditches of the fortress, leaving a gentle 
declivity which the hardy loggers of New 
Hampshire and the fishermen of Glouces- 
ter would scale with ease. He would gather 
an armada and descend on this stronghold 
— not in summer's calm, but in the depths 
of winter, when least expected, he would 
surprise them. A junction with a big snow- 
storm and the defensive powers of Louis- 
burg would be wiped out! 

History rather hazily distributes the 
honor of this conception among a trio of 
which the governor was one. Certain it is, 
Sir William believed the plan was his own ; 
at least, he "said it best." Plagiarism is 
never enthusiastic, and the manner in which 
his Excellency helped to push along the 
enterprise from start to finish seems to 
argue that he was waving no borrowed 
plume. 

The governor hastened to the Great and 
General Court, and there, in secret session, 
he spread the project before the legislators. 
But that prosy and prudent body was not 
enthralled. To them it was a gaunt and 
featherless thing that would complete the 
ruin of the province whose finances were 
already in a wretched state. 

The court had been sworn to secrecy, but 
the following week an enthusiastic deacon, 
in the fervency of prayer, let the bird out 
of its cage. It flew over the province, it 
caught the people's eye; all the sea-rover 
blood in New England was stirred anew. 
An appreciative public retouched the views 
of the legislators, and the next time Sir Will- 
iam exhibited his darling they saw with 
the eyes of the governor by a majority of 
one. 

This idea of going away from home in 
ships to capture a great fortress appealed, 
you may depend, to the boys of New Eng- 
land. In no time the roster of every com- 
pany was overflowing, and close observers 
might have noticed, between the time of the 



74 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



first enlistments and the departure of the 
expedition, that the cows would not give 
down their milk to the young farmers ; that 
clerks were forever having trouble with their 
accounts; and that young fishermen who 
went out for a short trip invariably came 
home low line. The young recruits had the 
war-fever. Their minds were not on their 
work. 

Preparations for the invasion completed, 
William Pepperill, a rich and popular mer- 
chant of Kittery, was entrusted with the 
supreme command, and amid the acclaims 
of the Boston populace he embarked at 
Long Wharf. . . . Governer Shirley went 
with General Pepperill as far as the wait- 
ing fleet of transports and cruisers at an- 
chor in Boston Harbor, and Job Stanwood, 
rowing the bow oar of the barge, took an 
admiring glance, every now and then, at the 
two great men seated in the stern-sheets, 
who were brave and enterprising enough to 
avenge their country's wrongs, and, inci- 
dentally, his own. They were engaged in 
earnest converse, and the set and anxious 
look in the general's face showed that, at 
the last moment, he was receiving ill news. 
In fine, the governor was gesticulating with 
a long, official-looking envelope, and telling 
the general that Commodore Warren, com- 
manding the British fleet stationed in the 
West Indies, and who had been earnestly 
requested to join the expedition, had de- 
clined to engage. As one French frigate 
would be able to sink the entire fleet of 
colonial cruisers, the enterprise that future 
historians would call "a Mad Scheme" had 
now resolved itself into a desperate ven- 
ture, indeed. 

In vain staid counsellors pointed out that 
forty-three hundred men were about to en- 
gage in a task better fitted for forty-three 
thousand; that there were no siege-guns, 
and that no one, from the commander-in- 
chief down, had the least experience in con- 
ducting a siege. They answered, "The en- 
emy has guns; we will capture them. One 
shall chase a thousand, and two put ten 
thousand to flight." Across their colors the 
motto was flung: "Never despair; Christ 
leads!" And with the departing cry, "Pray 
for us and we will fight for you," the ar- 
mada set sail. 

Fortunately for the colonial cause, Sir 
William Shirley had also appealed for aid 
directly to the home government. The Duke 



of Newcastle, the then British Secretary of 
State, hoping that the success of the expedi- 
tion would lighten the dark aspect of affairs 
on the continent, sent the commodore a 
peremptory order to join forces with the co- 
lonials. Safe now from assaults by way of 
the sea, and assured that the French would 
be cut off from throwing supplies into the 
besieged garrison, the colonial armada, after 
a prolonged stay at Canso, where they were 
joined by the contingent from New Hamp- 
shire, appeared off the harbor of Louisburg 
and proceeded at once to make a landing. 
The French came down to oppose them, 
but they found themselves at fault on ac- 
count of the skilful manner in which the 
colonials handled their oars. While the in- 
vaders were evidently intent on landing at 
one headland they suddenly wheeled their 
boats and darted for another, and before 
they could be effectually opposed they were 
into the surf and storming shoreward. In 
half an hour, with small loss, the boys from 
New England repulsed the veterans of 
Louis XV. and chased them behind their 
defenses. 

A landing was now made in force. Some 
warehouses, filled with intensely inflamma- 
ble materials, were fired by the invaders. 
The wind blew the smoke directly into a 
French outpost armed with thirty-two guns, 
called "The Grand Battery." The French 
must have thought that the dense pall of 
smoke veiled an advance of the enemy's en- 
tire force, for they hastily abandoned the 
position. The place was immediately oc- 
cupied by the besiegers, who bored the 
guns that had been incompletely spiked 
and turned them against the city. And 
now the farmers, mechanics, and fishermen 
of New England set themselves stubbornly 
down before the strong fortress of Louis- 
burg, determined to reduce it to the obedi- 
ence of his Britannic Majesty George, sec- 
ond of the name. 

For forty-seven days shot and bomb 
rained into the doomed fortress. 

Job Stanwood belonged to the Fifth 
Massachusetts Regiment, Ninth Company, 
Col. Robert Hale commanding. All the 
spring, side by side with the boys from 
Groton and Newburyport, he had toiled 
like a beaver; harnessed himself to the can- 
non and helped drag them over frozen mo- 
rasses and through the virgin forests, and 
aided in erecting battery after battery, each 



JOB STANWOOD, SCOUT 



75 



successive one a little nearer to the besieged 
city than the last. By June he was in the 
most advanced battery, within two hundred 
and fifty yards of the fortress, and was listen- 
ing every day to the humming scream of 
shot and the spiteful whirr of flying lan- 
grage, as the French tried to dismount the 
guns of the plucky little earthwork that was 
forever vexing their west wall. 

One day, while industriously making fas- 
cines, he was astonished to receive an order 
to proceed at once to the colonial head- 
quarters and report directly to the com- 
mander-in-chief. As he set a bit of broken 
looking-glass on the breach of a gun, and 
scraped the clinging soil of the battery from 
his boots in an attempt to make a brief toilet, 
his hands were trembling. Had he been 
guilty of some breach of discipline ? As he 
assured himself that such was not the case, 
he began to consider the nature of the 
speech he would address to the great man. 
Would he tell him that his mother was for- 
ever praising the fine rolls of linen brought 
from the Pepperill warerooms at the mouth 
of the Piscataqua ? Or, would he entertain 
him with the fact that his grandsir and the 
general's father had been dorymates on the 
banks of Newfoundland ? 

A council of war had just broken up, 
and Job found a crowd of officers, high in 
command, issuing from the army head- 
quarters; the scarlet uniforms from the 
British fleet off the harbor and the sober 
regimentals of the colonials intermingled. 

The boy on guard at the door was Rob- 
ert Munro, enthusiastically serving his king. 
He little dreamed that the red-coated sol- 
diery of that king's successor would write 
his name first and forever on the votive 
stone at Lexington. Roger Wolcott, of 
New Hampshire, his snow-white hair fra- 
ming a kindly and a ruddy visage, and 
Mathew Thornton, signer of the Declara- 
tion of Independence, came out of the door- 
way, arm-in-arm. Seth Pomeroy, great 
Indian fighter, and Robert Gridley, the en- 
gineer who would thirty years afterwards, 
to the very hour, mark out the lines at Bun- 
ker's Hill, were holding between them a 
parchment that buckled beneath the stiff 
breeze sweeping in from the ocean. And 
the Sumners, and the Websters, and the 
Hoars, — Russells, Holmeses, Winslows, 
Bryants, Choates, and Prescotts, — they 
were all there! Job entered the low-roofed 



warehouse that served as the colonial head- 
quarters. 

In an apartment partitioned off from the 
main floor by a great sail stretched from 
wall to wall he found himself in the pres- 
ence of William Pepperill. 

The general, quite unconscious that he 
was earning what not one of his country- 
men have before or since attained, — the 
honors and dignities of a baronet, — was 
seated before a rude table formed from 
rough planking and covered by a sail-cloth. 
On the table were numerous piles of papers, 
a partly unrolled chart, a large wooden ink- 
stand supporting a thicket of quill pens, 
some wax and a taper, and a snuff-box. 
His hair was queued after the fashion of 
the times, and he was dressed in knee- 
breeches and in a broad-cuffed, wide- 
shirted great-coat with embroidered collar. 
The square quartered-toed shoes that Job 
had seen on his feet at the embarkation had 
given place to heavy sea-boots rolled down 
at the top. Near at hand lay his sword and 
his three-cornered black hat. The lace at 
his throat and wrists was immaculate; and 
despite the hardships incidental to siege 
work, his personal appearance was so neat 
it might well impress one with the belief 
that he had come recently from the hands 
of a valet. 

Piling lumber and rolling barrels of fish 
into tiers in his youth on his father's wharf 
at Kittery had developed his frame, and 
the many leagues rowed over the Piscata- 
qua had deepened his chest. Altogether, he 
was a fine figure of a man, and he looked 
what he was, — a high-minded and patriotic 
gentleman. Let us hope, had he lived, his 
name would have been found among his 
friends on the immortal Declaration, — a 
significant autograph, — "William Pep- 
perill, Bart" 

He turned to Job with a smile that lit up 
the careworn features and said, "Well, my 
lad, the 'Honeypinks' have no cranberry- 
tarts or beds of down in the advanced bat- 
teries, eh?" 

Job blushed at the nickname of his com- 
pany, and with a salute answered, "My 
duty to you, sir. When it is a question of 
his Majesty's good service the 'Honey- 
pinks' do not consult their own ease or 
pleasure." 

"Well spoken, my lad," said Pepperill, 
"and I am about to put your loyalty to a 



7 6 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



supreme test. Captain Byles hath told me 
that you were among the prisoners ex- 
changed at Canso last year; that you were 
held here in the citadel for a spell and have 
seen more or less of the town and the for- 
tifications. Is it so?" 

"May it please your Honor," answered 
Job, "I was a prisoner here for four weeks; 
I know every foot of the town; the French 
permitted me some liberty." 

The commander-in-chief spread the chart 
out on the table before him. "In your 
knowledge of the place, then," he said, 
"what point would you call that?" 

Job stepped to the table and looked 
eagerly at the point on which the tip of the 
general's quill pen rested. "That," said 
Job, " is the Princess Battery, and that is 
the Dauphin Bastion, and that is the West 
Gate, and — " 

"Enough," said Pepperill, raising his 
hand. "Now, my lad, the news brought in 
by the scouts ordered out to make discov- 
eries gives me the utmost reason to believe 
that three thousand Canada men and Mic- 
Macs are gathering to fall on our backs. 
We have also information that ten sail of 
French men-o'-war have left Brest to re- 
lieve the fortress. In the event of either 
happening, in what a miserable case would 
we be! Hence, we assault to-morrow!" 
The thin lips closed down firmly and the 
lines in the careworn face deepened. 

"To-morrow, please God, we will try it 
out by land and sea! To-night you will 
make a complete circuit of the fortifications ; 
enter the town if possible; pay particular 
attention to the number of dismounted can- 
non, the breaches in the walls, and the gen- 
eral state of the garrison. What you hear 
will be of little service, but use your eyes; 
see in French. Report to me at daylight. 
Who may tell, under God, how much shall 
depend on the manner in which you dis- 
patch this night's work?" 

Rising, the general offered his hand, and 
as Job felt the warm, strong grasp he was 
seized with a sudden resolve to serve this 
man to the uttermost, be the cost what it 
would. 

"Now, my lad," said Pepperill, in part- 
ing, "I need not tell you that this is a nice 
affair, and if by any chance you should fall 
into the hands of Governor Du Chambon 
he would be like to take that virgin beard 
of thine without a razor." 



As Job emerged from the headquarters 
he passed a group of young British naval 
officers from the besieging fleet. 

"Fishermen!" sneered one, with curling 

up. 

Job faced about and drew himself up 
indignantly in his homespun uniform. The 
sight that checked the retort on his tongue 
drove the blood into the young officer's face 
until it was the color of his uniform. Will- 
iam Pepperill of Kittery was standing in 
the doorway. 

Job never forgot the insulting glance and 
the contemptuous tone of the young officer. 

"Fishermen ! " he yelled thirty years after- 
wards, as Howe's shattered first line reeled 
back from Bunker's Hill. 

At dusk, Job, with a light coil of rope 
over his arm, entered the deep belt of firs 
and spruces that lay between the headquar- 
ters of the invading forces and the glacis of 
the fortress. The night was intensely dark, 
and as he worked his way through the deep 
underbrush he frequently found himself 
tripped up by a projecting root or flounder- 
ing in a treacherous bog. He struggled on 
until he knew by the unfeatured wall of dark- 
ness ahead that he was nearing the edge of 
the glacis. Suddenly the sharp challenge 
of a sentry rang out: "Qui vive?" As Job 
stepped into the shadow of a tall fir it seemed 
to him as if his beating heart would betray 
him. The sentinel stood stock-still for some 
seconds, then, seemingly satisfied that his 
alarm was unfounded, he shouldered his 
musket and continued on his round. A few 
steps more brought Job to the edge of the 
woods. The outer works of the great fortress, 
in easy declension, swept down to his feet. 
Beyond were the dark outlines of the bas- 
tions and citadel. At times on his hands 
and knees, or in a crouching attitude, or 
hugging the earth at a suspicious sound, 
Job doggedly mounted the incline and, 
reaching the crest of the glacis, looked over 
its edge. 

Before him was a wide ditch, at the bot- 
tom of which was a channel filled with slow- 
moving water. On the opposite side was 
the parapet, its stone-facings marked at 
regular intervals with long, narrow aper- 
tures for the play of small-arms. Five feet 
above, a dark-throated cannon frowned 
upon him from its embrasure. Job wormed. 
a sharp-pointed stake which he had sup- 
plied himself with into the soft earth of the 



JOB STANWOOD, SCOUT 



77 



glacis, and fastened one end of his rope to 
it. With the other end, into which he had 
fashioned a noose, he began an attempt to 
lasso the cannon on the opposite wall. De- 
pressed as the gun was, the task proved less 
easy than throwing a bowline over a pier 
while his pinky was gliding into her berth, 
but Job persisted with the steadiness born 
of assured skill; and at last, the noose set- 
tled around the gun. By a series of undu- 
lating movements he drew it taut. Grasp- 
ing the rope he slid into the ditch. The 
next moment he was going hand over hand 
up the revetments of the parapet. Crawl- 
ing through the embrasure and over the gun- 
platform, Job cautiously descended the in- 
terior slope of the ramparts. He was within 
the far-famed city of Louisburg. It was 
then the centre of all North America, and 
the eyes of two continents were fastened 
upon it. 

This miniature Versailles, whose prom- 
enades had once been filled with brightly 
attired women and uniformed men, its pub- 
lic fountain, its spacious square, its market- 
place in which stood an iron cross which 
you can see to-day by resorting to the rooms 
of the Harvard College Library, its beauti- 
ful buildings, public and private, faced and 
decorated by highly wrought arches and 
pilasters, subjected for ten weeks to the 
pitiless assault of ten thousand cannon-balls 
and six hundred bombs, was now a heap of 
ruins. Shot-rent and sagging buildings filled 
the streets; dismounted and overturned can- 
non lay without their embrasures. Under 
scaffolding erected over the casemates hud- 
dled frightened women and children. French 
pride had declined the offer of a safe con- 
duct. Along the interior battlements of the 
fortress, at regular intervals, hung battle- 
lanterns, but the town itself was deserted 
and wrapped in darkness. 

As Job worked his way guardedly through 
the debris-clogged streets, he occasionally 
ran across a crowd of drunken soldiers who 
flouted the commands addressed to them by 
officers decked in bedraggled lace, and 
reeled on their way. And once he encoun- 
tered two men bearing a dead man on a 
stretcher, hurrying towards the gateway 
that led to the burial-grounds. 

The short night was far advanced when 
Job finally reached the western walls of the 
fortress. Here the work of destruction had 
been greatest. The West Gate was entirely 



demolished, and the adjacent walls on either 
side, for many feet, had been beaten in. 

"The pear is ripe," thought Job, "and 
here is the place for the assaulting-column ! " 

He leaped upon the fallen masonry that 
filled the ditch from wall to wall and ran out 
upon the glacis. As he paused to take a last 
look on the ruins behind him his eye fell on 
the French standard drooping from its flag- 
staff above the citadel. A patriotic fervor, 
inborn for generations, welled up in his 
heart. To-day, to-morrow at most, he with 
his comrades would scale the walls, the 
"fleur-de-lys" would drop from its staff, 
and England's flag would be run up to float 
in triumph over the proud fortress! Sud- 
denly, a gray light began to spread itself 
over the town and the battlements. The 
seventeenth oj June was coming up out of 
the east. 

Job's uppermost thought now was to 
reach his battery, two hundred and fifty 
yards away, and report to General Pepper- 
ill the scenes that had come under his eye. 
He had scarcely taken a dozen steps when 
a sentry, directly in his path, halted and 
faced about. Before him was a boy, hardly 
older than himself, dressed in the blue- 
faced white uniform of the Swiss auxiliaries. 

"Qui vive?" came the challenge. 

Job had been taught by what little he had 
seen of war that the head of an assaulting 
column is not the post of greatest danger, 
and that a flank attack is most destructive. 
Turning neither to the right nor left, he 
charged straight down at the sentry. 

"Halte, lal — Voyans! Halte, la, je 
t'dis!" cried the excited Swiss. 

Before the astonished sentry could bring 
his gun to the fire, Job struck him, head and 
shoulders, fair in the chest with the force of 
a catapult, the impact sending both boys, 
head over heels, down the incline. Freeing 
himself from the frantic clutch of his adver- 
sary, Job picked himself up and fled over 
the glacis. 

Bang! Bang! Whit! Whit! 

"Gee," he exclaimed, as he stooped to 
pick up his cap that had been carried be- 
fore him by a bullet. "That was a narrow! " 

Without doubt, Job's report of the des- 
perate state of the garrison determined 
General Pepperill to deliver, at once, the 
long-deferred assault. 

In the early morning the drums that, 
years later, would beat the reveille at Bun- 



78 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



ker's Hill began to roll. The naval force, 
stowing their light spars, came down on the 
land with open ports, and the signal, part 
sweeping the deck, part fluttering in the 
breeze, was beginning to go aloft from the 
flagship: " Stand in and attack the fortress." 
The guns in the land batteries opened with 
a thunder that set the bell in one lone stee- 
ple ringing. The scaling-ladders were 
brought out and the bearers, white to their 
determined lips, were making ready for the 
desperate work of the escalade. General 
Pepperill and his staff passed from regi- 
ment to regiment of the paraded troops ex- 
horting them to show their valor and hero- 
ism in the coming attack. Suddenly a man 
appeared on the parapet of the fortress. He 
raised aloft a white flag. The emblem of 
submission rose and fell disconsolately in 
the breeze for a time; then it descended the 
slope of the glacis, was lost in a hollow way, 
to reappear a moment afterwards on a rising 
piece of ground. The captain of the most 
advanced battery leaped on its edge, and 
ran out to meet the bearer. 

Louisburg had fallen! The strongest 
fortress in the western world, on which the 
French had for a quarter of a century spent 



millions of money in the attempt to make it 
impregnable, had succumbed to a handful 
of New England farmers and fishermen, 
guided and directed by the shrewd and 
practical mind of a Kittery merchant. 

Up to this, in all conflicts waged by the 
British Colonies in North America against 
the French, they had leaned upon and 
looked up to the red-coated soldiery from 
over the sea. This enterprise was home- 
spun, woof and warp. The mother country 
(God bless her), little dreaming of the far- 
reaching results, had permitted and en- 
couraged her offspring to make war alone; 
and the eaglet had found her wings. Right 
here was born a sense of independence that 
ran, leavening the whole lump, from Fan- 
euil Hall to the House of Burgesses. On 
the ramparts of Bunker's Hill it was trans- 
lated into flame. The cry of triumph that 
went up from the besieging colonials, flung 
back from the walls of Louisburg, echoed, 
"Saratoga!" 

Who may tell! Perhaps, some day, Har- 
vard College will take from her archives 
the old iron cross and reset it in the square 
of the new town that is growing up opposite 
the old city of Louisburg. 



ON A PORTRAIT OF MISS ALCOTT 

By MARGARET ASHMUN 



In all my fancies, when I was a child, 
I pictured her a princess, stately made, 
Fair-featured, rich, a new Scheherazade, 

On whom a kindly fate forever smiled. 

The blithesome story-teller that beguiled 

The soul of childhood — could her beauty fade, 
Her genius wane, her ready pen be stayed 

By grief or age ? 'T were heresy most wild 

To think these things. Now where I, musing, stand 

Her portrait hangs. This unassuming guise 
Shows, not a princess, haughty to command, 

But one most humble, human, sorrow-wise, 

Who seems to live and reach me forth her hand — 

A woman, simple, sweet, with tired eyes. 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 

By DAVID S. BARRY 

President Roosevelt and the Annapolis Naval Academy : How the Old-time Red Tape Is 

To Be Cut : Some Entertaining Facts about the Academy and the Old Town : The 

Splendid New Buildings for the Academy — Which DonH Fit and CanH Be Used. 




WING to the alertness and en- 
ergy of President Roosevelt, 
who if anything within the 
Ijij sphere of his legitimate field of 
i§ usefulness — or possibly out- 
side of it — needs to be done is not happy 
until he does it, the, United States Naval 
Academy at Annapolis, Maryland, is at 
present receiving a little shaking-up that 
undoubtedly will improve it. 

The Naval Academy, where boys offi- 
cially called midshipmen are trained to be 
officers and gentlemen, is located in the 
sleepy, historic town which is the capital of 
Maryland on the Severn River, within a 
stone's throw of where it empties into pic- 
turesque Chesapeake Bay. It was a very 
small and modest institution indeed for 
many years after it was founded, in 1845, 
by the late Honorable George Bancroft, 
Secretary of the Navy in the Administra- 
tion of President Polk, and afterward a his- 
torian of high repute. In 1846, the year 
after the school was opened, there were 
thirty-six midshipmen on the rolls; to-day 
when the classes are full there are more than 
nine hundred. 

In the sixty-one intervening years the 
courses of study and the systems of physical, 
mental, and technical training have under- 
gone many changes, some of them very rad- 
ical. Now, in the year when the academy, 
having grown to what will undoubtedly be 
its greatest size, is about to enter on a 
new era, taking possession of the preten- 
tious modern buildings that are approach- 
ing completion on one comprehensive, har- 
monious plan, another step forward will be 
taken. The President and his advisers will 
inject a little new blood and a little ginger 
into the management of the institution. 
They will cut some of the miles of red tape 
j that in a quarter of a century is sure to wind 



itself around the machinery of any govern- 
mental bureau. They will brush away the 
cobwebs that have accumulated, and adopt 
new and modern methods of teaching and 
drilling, with a view to graduating naval 
officers who will do credit to the new navy 
under the conditions which have grown 
out of the experience gained by the recent 
Spanish-American War and the more mo- 
mentous wars of foreign nations. 

The navy itself, so far as regards ships 
and men, has in recent years been trans- 
formed, and it is the idea of President 
Roosevelt and those with whom he has dis- 
cussed this important matter that the proc- 
esses of moulding young men into naval 
officers should be transformed to a certain 
extent also. There is nothing inherently 
wrong with the navy and nothing much at 
fault with the Naval Academy. The report 
of the Official Board of Visitors appointed 
to visit the academy each year during 
"June Week," when the graduation exer- 
cises of the full four years' term take place, 
representing the Senate, the House of Rep- 
resentatives, and the private citizenship of 
the United States, says in its report for the 
present year, recently issued: "The condi- 
tion of affairs at Annapolis, generally, the 
proficiency of the midshipmen, the admi- 
rable discipline maintained, and the com- 
petency of the teaching-force is to be com- 
mended." That something has been over- 
looked in the processes for whipping into 
shape the raw material composed of two or 
three hundred boys appointed from all 
walks of life and from all sections of the 
country and bringing out the best that is in 
them, as far as regards their adaptability 
for the naval profession, has been strongly 
impressed upon the mind of President Roose- 
velt and practical wide-awake naval offi- 
cers interested in keeping the personnel of 

79 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



the service up to the highest possible 
point. 

For many years it has been asserted by 
those who professed to have knowledge of 
the subject in and out of the naval service 
that the methods of instructing boys at 
the academy, and particularly the methods 
of conducting and marking examinations, 
have been such as to cause to fail at 
the recurring examinations those who, 
while they might be up to the mark in 
general efficiency and in every way quali- 
fied to receive a commission, have been 
unable to meet the requirements of the 
academy in some one particular. Math- 
ematics has been the stumbling-block of a 
very large percentage of all midshipmen 
who have failed to pass the required mental 
examinations, and has been the bogeyman 
of a very large number, possibly a majority, 
of those who have passed, many of whom 
afterward were among the most distin- 
guished officers of the service. The midship- 
men's records on file in the Navy Depart- 
ment from the time the academy was estab- 
lished will show that while some "star" 
men in mathematics have made "star" 
officers, a very large proportion of those 
who have been conspicuous for efficiency, 
loyalty, bravery, and all-around general 
distinction and usefulness are those who 
accomplished the mathematical course at 
Annapolis after trials and tribulations, and 
who would never have received an ensign's 
commission had the mathematical require- 
ments been so proportionately severe as 
they are to-day. 

Strictly in line with President Roosevelt's 
views of what sort of training a midshipman 
at Annapolis should receive is this extract 
from this year's report from the Official 
Board of Visitors: 

T Such a revision should be made of the courses 
of study and methods of conducting and marking 
examinations as will develop and bring out the 
average all-around ability of the midshipman 
rather than to give him prominence in any one 
particular study. The fact should be kept in mind 
that the Naval Academy is not a university, but 
a school, the primary object of which is to educate 
boys to be efficient naval officers. Changes in 
curriculum, therefore, should be in the direction 
of making the course of instruction less theoretical 
and more practical. No portion of any future 
class should be graduated in advance of the full 
four years' course, and under no circumstances 
should the standard of instruction be lowered. 
The academy in almost all of its departments is 
now magnificently equipped, and it would be 



very unwise to make the course of instruction less 
exacting than it is to-day. 

To make the course of instruction less 
theoretical and more practical is what Pres- 
ident Roosevelt had in mind when he ap- 
pointed a Naval Board composed of Cap- 
tain Richard Wainwright, the hero of the 
Gloucester fight in the war of 1898 and 
formerly superintendent of the academy; 
Commander Robert S. Griffin, an engineer 
officer; and Lieutenant-Commander Albert 
L. Key, personal aide to the President, on 
duty with the General Board, to inquire in- 
to the course of instruction of the midship- 
men at the academy and to report to the 
Secretary of the Navy before the beginning 
of the new academic year. 

With the proverbial promptness of naval 
officers, this board went to work, and its re- 
port has been in the hands of the secretary 
for several weeks, although the academic 
year does not begin until October 1. Much 
oral and written testimony was taken, many 
personal visits made, and the recommen- 
dations submitted as to the healthy changes 
of administration at the academy will, if 
adopted, do much toward bringing about 
the conditions for which President Roose- 
velt and those who are in sympathy with 
him in this matter are striving. The Pres- 
ident does not believe, nor do the naval offi- 
cers on the board and off of it, all of whom 
were once midshipmen themselves, that the 
physical or mental standard should be re- 
duced; but he and they regard it as unjust 
to the midshipmen and unfair to the Gov- 
ernment that a boy who has been admitted 
to the academy after passing the rigid en- 
trance examinations physical and mental, 
and who has maintained a good average 
standard in all his studies, but who has been 
unable to make a stipulated mark in any! 
one study, should perforce be denied a com- 
mission, and the navy thus deprived of an 
officer who, although without the technically 
trained mind of a university professor, yet 
possesses all the qualifications needed in an 
intelligent, efficient, and patriotic officer. 
Practical officers, not book sharps, in the 
President's opinion, is what the navy needs. 

It was represented to the President as the 
basis for his action in appointing the board 
of investigation that one department after 
another at the academy has been put in 
charge of specialists, — officers belonging to 
the permanent corps of professors, — who 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



81 




U. S. S. Severn, training-ship 



Lave made it the sine qua non of the mid- 
hipman's success that he shall reach a cer- 
ain fixed mark in that particular depart - 
nent of study over which the specialist pre- 
ided. 

The President's purpose is to so readjust 
he method of marking, and if necessary 
he method of instruction, as to mould the 
|>oys who enter the academy as midship- 



men into students who, having studied faith- 
fully and done their best, shall be graduated 
at the end of the four years' term if they 
have maintained a prescribed general av- 
erage in studies and physical condition and 
demonstrated that they possess the qualities 
that will make them desirable officers, even 
though they might have balked at some in- 
volved and technical questions. He seeks 



82 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



to make the standard uniform, and to give 
every studious, well-meaning, and well-set- 
up boy who has passed the entrance exam- 
inations to the academy, showing that there 
is good raw material in him, and who has 
done his best to meet all requirements, a 
chance for a commission if his average 
equipment — mental, physical, and moral 
— is good. 

One of the strongest arguments in behalf 
of his plan, and the one that had perhaps 
the greatest weight, is that the amount and 
method of study imposed upon boys enter- 
ing the academy is at times more than 
their mental and physical capacities will 
stand. One piece of evidence in this regard 
made a particularly strong impression upon 
the President's mind. It is a letter written 
by an officer who has been on duty as an in- 
structor at the academy for two or three 
years, in which he says: 

The amount of work gone over by the third 
class (second year) this term is enough to stagger 
an average man, particularly a young one who has 
not. gone very far in mathematics before entering 
here, and in my opinion the course is a poor one 
either as a matter of education or as the means of 
finding out who are the best men or who are suit- 
able for the service. 

One weak point in the administration of 
affairs at the academy seems to be the short 
term tours of duty of those in charge. Naval 
officers must, of course, with due regard 
for their future careers, serve alternately at 
sea and on shore, because the total years of 
their sea duty figures in their chances of 
promotion and retirement, and so the officers 
on duty at the academy are constantly 
changing. Admiral Sands, .who until last 
July had been superintendent of the acad- 
emy for two years, gave up the post under 
the operation of the law which retires him 
from active service at the age of sixty-two, 
although he is to all appearance at the prime 
of his mental and physical powers. He was 
succeeded by Captain Charles J. Badger, 
formerly a popular Commandant of Cadets 
at the academy, who will hardly serve more 
than two years before he will be obliged 
to go to sea in order that he may serve 
the required time in his present rank to fit 
him for promotion to that higher one of Rear 
Admiral. Captain G. P. Colvocoresses — 
irreverently called by the midshipmen, 
"Crawl-over-the-cross-trees" — was also re- 
tired in July, as was Professor (with the 



rank of Rear Admiral) W. W. Hendrickson 
who for thirty-three years had been at the 
head of the Department of Mathematics 
Other officers connected with the adminis- 
tration, including heads of departments, wil 
be superseded by those whom the new su- 
perintendent will gather about him as his 
administrative staff; so that the time for the 
operation of the new methods suggested b> 
President Roosevelt's naval board is, all 
things considered, very opportune. There 
is and has been, it is understood, no criti- 
cism of individuals, but of methods alone, 
and these it is believed will be improved 
upon by the changes contemplated. 

For some unaccountable reason the pub- 
lic seems to be less informed about the af- 
fairs of the Naval Academy than of the 
Military Academy at West Point, and yet 
the navy is the "popular" branch of the 
military service. Perhaps it is because 
sleepy old forgotten Annapolis away down 
in the Terrapin State across the bay from 
that somewhat mystical if not mythical re- 
gion known as "the East'n Sho' " is less 
known than West Point on the palisades of 
the Hudson near the metropolis of the 
United States. At the outbreak of the Civil 
War, when the Naval Academy was very 
young, it was moved to Newport, Rhode 
Island, and reestablished at Annapolis in 
1865, where it has since remained. 

There have been in the forty-odd years 
since that time many changes in the law 
governing the administration of the acad- 
emy, and of the rules and regulations re- 
garding the personnel and the course of 
study, but little in the way of developing 
the practical side of the boys educated there 
has been undertaken until the present ef- 
fort of President Roosevelt was made. Un- 
der the law as it stands to-day the official 
title of boys at the academy is "midship- 
man," having been changed from that of 
"cadet" by the law of July 1, 1902. There 
are allowed at the Naval Academy two mid- 
shipmen for each Senator, Representative, 
and Delegate in Congress, two for the 
District of Columbia, and five each year at 
large, appointed by the President. This 
allotment is to continue until July 1, 19 13, 
and thereafter but one midshipman is to 
be appointed for each Senator, Represen- 
tative, and Delegate in Congress, in addi- 
tion to one to be appointed by the Governor 
of Porto Rico. All candidates for admission 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



83 



to the Naval Academy must be between 
the ages of sixteen and twenty years, the 
maximum and minimum age-limit having 
been changed at various times. No boy 
shall be admitted from a foreign country 
unless by a law hereafter to be enacted. 

Owing to the great need of officers con- 
sequent upon the building of the new navy, 
the large modern classes of midshipmen 
have been graduated of late years in Feb- 
ruary instead of in June of each year, and 



called "Youngsters" and the fourth class- 
men " Plebes. " The latter enter the acad- 
emy in June, immediately following the 
departure of the "Grads," and those who 
have been " Plebes" become " Youngsters. " 
"Plebes" correspond to raw recruits in the 
army, and it is necessary, therefore, of course, 
for them to be licked into shape in more 
ways than one. The officers of the academy 
attend to the business of teaching them to 
toe the mark, but the upper-classmen have 




The Maryland State-house 



he class of 1907, indeed, was divided into 
hree sections, graduating respectively in 
September, 1906, and February and June, 
:9o7. This practice has resulted in the sort 
)f cramming that is now decided to be so 
leleterious to the mental and physical 
itrength of the midshipmen, and it is prob- 
able that the recommendation of the Offi- 
|:ial Board of Visitors, indorsed by the Naval 
Board, that hereafter no classes be gradu- 
ated until they have completed the full four 
fears' course, will be adopted and carried 
tat. 
1 At the academy, the third classmen are 



from time immemorial undertaken the re- 
sponsibility of teaching the "Plebes" how 
to behave in the presence of their superiors. 
"Setting up," "fagging," and "running" 
became, under due process of evolution, 
" hazing," and out of that practice, reprehen- 
sible or salutary according to how it is re- 
garded, has grown the serious disorder and 
cases of brutality which a year or two ago 
ended in the death of a midshipman as the 
result of a fist fight which, however, it is 
stoutly maintained by the midshipmen, did 
not take place under the sanction of the 
practice of hazing or of its code of rules. 



84 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




The Brice House, Annapolis 



The outbreak of indignation at the series 
of events charged rightly or wrongly to 
the hazing account, and which culminated 
in the death of young Branch, found ex- 
pression in Congress by the passage of the 
present anti-hazing law. This gives the su- 
perintendent of the Naval Academy the 
power to deal directly with the midship- 
man accused of hazing, and to apply to him 
the code of punishment provided — even to 
the extent of dismissing him from the serv- 
ice without resorting to the ordinary meth- 
ods of court-martial — whenever he is sat- 
isfied that the presence of any midship- 
man at the academy is detrimental to the 
public service. Hazing, moreover, is de- 
fined by this law to be "an act, system, or 
any unauthorized assumption of authority 
by one midshipman over another midship- 
man whereby the last mentioned midship- 
man shall suffer any cruelty, indignity, hu- 
miliation, hardship, or oppression, or the 
deprivation or abridgment of any rights, 
privilege, or advantage to which he shall 
legally be entitled." It is also made the 
duty under the law of every officer, military 
or civilian, on duty at the academy to re- 



port any fact which comes to his attention 
indicating any violation of the act or the 
regulations of the academy. And it is pro- 
vided that any officer or civilian neglecting 
his duty in this regard shall be court-mar- 
tialled and dismissed from the service. 

The requirements for admission to the 
academy are ability to pass the mental and 
physical examinations, and the attainment 
of the proper age. No further questions are 
asked, it being taken for granted that in ap- 
pointing candidates the President and Con- 
gressmen pay heed to the stipulation that 
they shall reside in the Congress district from 
which they are appointed and that they are 
of good moral character. It is hard for a 
boy, unless he is bright and proficient in 
study, to enter the academy, and it is much 
harder for him to stay there, as he cannot 
successfully pass the required monthly, 
semi-annual, and annual examinations un- 
less he studies seriously and continually. 
The outbreak of hazing interfered seriously 
with the mental standing of the midshipmen 
as a whole, but it has so improved within 
the past few years that Admiral Sands was 
able to state in his report this year that 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



85 




L v " :' 



K% %W 



,:m^ 



The Paca House, Annapolis 



fewer midshipmen than ever before were 
turned back in their classes or were 
"bilged," which is the midshipman's word 
for dropped. 

Whether or not hazing as an institution 
has been permanently abolished remains to 
be seen. In this year's "Lucky Bag," the 
annual publication of the graduating class, 
the statement is made that hazing has been 
uprooted for good and all, that it is no longer 
indulged in, and that the desire to haze the 
"Plebes" has passed entirely out of the 
hearts of the upper-classmen, so that here- 
after all classes will live in that sweet peace 
and harmony so much to be desired. But it 
will be just as well perhaps for the author- 
ities to keep their eyes open. The custom of 
making a "Plebe" understand his place is 
deep rooted, just as the habit of sitting on 
the Freshmen at civilian colleges is, and no 
graduating class can certify with certainty 
that the desire of those whom they have left 
behind them at the academy to make the 
"Plebe" keep time with the music has 
passed away. Indeed, it is said that already, 
as a result of the alleged abolition of the 
time-honored custom, the "Plebes" who 
entered in 1906 have been, during the past 



year, so "chesty" that they have not hesi- 
tated to withhold the deference that is due 
to the upper-classmen. The "Plebes" of 
1907, who entered in June last, the class of 
191 1, may take heart from the immunity 
enjoyed by the class above them, and may 
become even more intolerable to those who 
would have them know their place. The 
superintendent of the academy testified be- 
fore the Official Board of Visitors that ha- 
zing had been stamped out forever. The 
Commandant of Midshipmen, when asked 
for his opinion, said he was not so sure 
about it. Having been brought more 
closely in contact with the boys than the su- 
perintendent, the commandant may possibly 
know their hearts better than the superin- 
tendent or the editor of "The Lucky Bag." 
Time was, something less than two hun- 
dred years ago, when Annapolis, the cap- 
ital of Maryland, was the centre of fashion, 
social life, gaiety, hospitality, and all that 
goes with the leading city of a state or na- 
tion, especially when it happens to be the 
seat of government. Those were the days 
when Annapolis was very much like Lon- 
don, and when the pretentious colonial 
houses were being built that are now ad- 



86 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Brigade of midshipmen on parade-ground 



mired as relics of days dead and gone. 
The city was laid out on the same general 
plan as Washington, with the State-house 
as the centre, and the avenues radiating 
therefrom like the spokes of a wheel. In 
outward appearance the town has changed 
but little in the past two centuries. There 
stands the State-house to-day on the crest 
of the hill near the centre of the city, added 
to from time to time, but now with the old 
Senate Chamber where George Washing- 
ton bade farewell to the army restored pre- 
cisely to what it was when the Father of his 
Country spoke within its sacred precincts. 

Annapolis has changed so little that if 
George Washington should come to life to- 
day he would have no trouble in making 
his way about. He could go along King 
George Street, Prince George Street, Duke 
of Gloucester Street, and all the other streets 
with the rich old Tory flavor, and easily 
find many of the houses that sheltered his 
friends in the old days and that were the 
scenes of those occasions of festivity for 
which the then gay capital was noted. There 
are in Annapolis some of the finest types of 
colonial houses extant; and although a more 



or less modern town has grown up about 
them, this fact serves to make them all the 
more interesting to the travellers of modern 
days who love to poke about the towns and 
villages of the famous eastern and western 
shores and reflect upon the changes that 
have taken place since Richard Carvel and 
Dolly Manners and the other beaux and 
belles of their set made merry neath the 
graceful dome of the historic State-house. 
Winston Churchill drew his inspiration for 
his successful novel while living at Annap- 
olis as a midshipman. The golden age of 
Annapolis dates back to the period between 
1750 and 1770, when the tide of wealth and 
fashion and fine living reached its highest 
point. 

It was toward the close of the Revolution- 
ary War that the Continental Congress sat 
in Annapolis, and it was there in the Sen- 
ate Chamber, but recently restored that 
George Washington, on December 23, 1783, 
resigned his commission as Commander-in- 
Chief of the Continental Army. The first 
State-house was completed in 1697, three 
years after Annapolis was established as the 
capital of Maryland. This building was 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 




Midshipmen embarking for summer practice cruise 



burned in 1704, and the second State-house, 
begun in the same year on the same site, was 
used for sixty-eight years, when it was torn 
down to make way for the present edifice. 
The hotel where Washington was often en- 
tertained is still standing, as is the house 
occupied by his friend Charles Carroll of 
Carrollton. And many private residences 
built in the eighteenth century are occupied 
to-day by the descendants of those who built 
them. What is said to be the oldest edifice 
in Annapolis is the venerable Treasury 
Building, in the shape of a Greek cross, and 
among the most interesting objects of more 
recent structure are the bronze statue of 
Roger Brooke Taney, Chief Justice of the 
United States from 1836 to 1864, which 
stands in front of the entrance to the State- 
house, and on the southeast side of the 
building the statue of Baron de Kalb. 

Nothwithstanding the antiquity of the 
houses and of many of the customs of An- 
napolis, the march of improvement has 
made itself felt, here and there, and a visit 
to the town to-day must needs make a dif- 
ferent impression upon one than was felt 
by the gay gallants who flocked there by 



coach and by saddle when Washington was 
President to join in the solemn ceremonies 
and fashionable follies of the day. The time 
of the year to see Annapolis in the present 
day and generation is during " June Week." 
This is the time when the graduating exer- 
cises at the Naval Academy are held and 
when the town takes on itself a holiday air 
akin to that seen in university towns in 
Commencement Week the world over. But 
Annapolis is so small, so dirty, so dilapida- 
ted, except in spots, so quaint, its narrow 
streets so full of black people, and altogether 
so delightful, that to a Northerner at least 
it must seem as if there was nothing like it 
anywhere. 

June Week is the fat season for Annapo- 
lis, especially for the boarding-houses, the 
shops, and the favored individual who has a 
monopoly of the automobile and hack busi- 
ness. There are two public automobiles in 
Annapolis, and about two hundred hacks, 
some of which must certainly have been in 
use on the night when George Washington 
discovered Richard Carvel in the fisticuffs 
encounter with his rival in the village tap- 
room. For a door to fall off or a passenger 



88 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Richard Carvel House, near Anrapolis 




The Peggy Stewart House, Annapolis, Maryland 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



go through the bottom of one on a trip 
from the railroad-station to the hotel is a 
mere incident. And the black boys who 
drive the bony nags — what a sight they 
are, with high hats and vari-colored clothes, 
all too big, and lap-robes made of pieces 
of Joseph's discarded coat! 

Annapolis is only about fifty miles from 
Washington, but there is as yet no trolley- 
line between the cities, and the dirty, dark, 
crowded little railroad-station into which 
the crossroad from the main lines lands pas- 



Because it is cheap in ordinary times, re- 
tired naval officers have a penchant for An- 
napolis as a home in their declining years, 
the place being especially convenient be- 
cause they have the right of burial in the 
beautiful little cemetery adjoining the acad- 
emy grounds on the Severn River. Just be- 
yond the cemetery is the Naval Academy 
hospital, which the midshipmen, never at a 
loss for a pat nickname, habitually refer to 
as " Our home beyond the grave." 

June Week begins on Monday, lasts four 




Armory, chapel, and officers' houses 



sengers is characteristic of towns south of 
Washington. The train comes in with a 
tooting of whistle, ringing of bell, and the 
blowing-off of steam, the darkies pounce 
upon the passengers literally in swarms, the 
two automobiles and the countless hacks re- 
ceive their loads of passengers, and the 
whole cavalcade goes rushing up the dusty 
street at a break-neck speed paradoxically 
characteristic of Annapolis, flanked by 
crowds of negroes of the real old Southern 
flavor, who come pouring out of cross- 
streets, alleys, and bar-rooms, grinning at 
the general joyfulness. 



days, and the exercises consist in the con- 
ferring of degrees upon the graduating class 
by the President of the United States or the 
Secretary of the Navy; infantry and sea- 
manship drills; dress parades; sham bat- 
tles; the annual german of the second class 
to the "Grads;" the alumni dinner; and, as 
a climax to it all, the June ball, at which the 
brigade of midshipmen are hosts. Inci- 
dentally, while all these festivities are go- 
ing on, the Official Board of Visitors are ex- 
pected to examine the academy from top to 
bottom. They participate in the social 
functions and make a report to the Secre- 



9° 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



tary of the Navy containing recommenda- 
tions for the future conduct of the acad- 
emy, which, as a rule, are politely but thor- 
oughly ignored. 

Annapolis is a paradise for girls in June 
Week, and they come flocking from Wash- 
ington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and all 
other cities of the United States to dance, 
go canoeing, and flirt with the midshipmen, 
who have enlarged liberty during June 
Week; and in Washington and Baltimore 
particularly it is a part of a girl's coming out 



classes now being at their fullest quota and 
there having been no June ball previously 
since 1901, owing to the fact that the mid- 
shipmen have been graduated ahead of 
time in the intervening years because of the 
great necessity for increasing the number of 
officers. 

Those who knew the Naval Academy in 
"the old days," as they say, — 'that is, be- 
fore the modern buildings were constructed, 
— complain that the "atmosphere " has been 
destroyed, along with the grand old trees 




Entrance to Bancroft Hall, in which lie temporarily the remains of John Paul Jones 



to attend the academy hop. The large 
dances are held in the new armory, an im- 
mense building with a floor like polished 
glass, but unfortunately so solid, the floors 
being laid upon thick asphalt, that those 
who dance upon it generally complain of 
blistered toes the next morning. At this 
year's class cotillion the girls all wore white 
dresses and the boys white uniforms with 
yellow sashes, the decorations of the vast 
hall were also in white, and the sight when 
the german was at its height was beautiful 
and impressive. The June ball was the 
largest in the history of the academy, the 



that had to be removed to make way for the 
modern buildings. These structures are 
very fine and very costly, but somehow they 
seem to have been designed without refer- 
ence to the local surroundings, and, more- 
over, many of them are ill adapted to the 
purposes for which they are to be used, and 
some are already being converted. Ban- 
croft Hall, the main building, in which are 
located the dormitories of the midshipmen, 
faces the "open sea." On its broad ter- 
races brigade formations take place, and 
beneath them is the attractive mess-hall, 
capable of seating the entire brigade of 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



9i 



midshipmen. It is well lighted, with its 
windows looking out on the bay, well ven- 
tilated, and well arranged generally. It is 
not well sealed, however, because it leaks 
like a sieve, and has now been abandoned, 
after a vain effort to fix the responsibility 
and remedy the defect. 

The rooms of the midshipmen in Ban- 
croft Hall are fine, and the grand memorial 
assembly-room, underneath the marble 
steps of which lie the remains of John Paul 
Jones, awaiting their final transfer to the 
crypt in the new chapel, is finer, although 
no one knows its purpose. The chapel is 
also an imposing building, but with less 
seating-capacity than it was intended to 
have, and with, it is feared, poor acoustic 
properties. It is a matter of universal re- 
gret, moreover, that the exterior of its im- 
posing dome should have been so decorated 
with yellow tiles and white relief plaster 
designs as to deserve the name given to it 
by the midshipmen: "Weigand's (the local 
confectioner) Christmas Cake." 

The boat-house, too, which exteriorly is 
the counterpart of the new armory, has been 
found not to be adapted to the keeping of 
boats, and so it is being changed into a 
much-needed gymnasium and swimming- 



pool. From an artistic standpoint the Na- 
val Academy buildings are perhaps good, 
but the architect must have been poorly in- 
formed upon the history and circumstances 
of their local surroundings. 

Annapolis is essentially a colonial town, 
and colonial architecture should predom- 
inate there. Old St. John's College, out- 
side the academy walls, with its dingy build- 
ings located on a green, grassy slope, has 
an atmosphere all its own, and this the old- 
timers say the Naval Academy had when 
the ugly but venerable buildings were lost 
sight of in the admiration called forth by the 
green grass, the ancient trees, and the gen- 
eral old-time flavor. "Lovers' Lane" still 
remains within the academy walls, however 
— the pathway beneath the trees where the 
"Plebes" are not allowed to stroll; the new 
houses of the officers are as a rule models 
of their kind; the waters of the river and 
bay sparkle as of yore, and the moon shines 
as bright on the nights when the belles trip 
the light fantastic toe with the brass-but- 
toned youths or sit with them along the wall. 
In spite of clever but unpractical architects 
and greedy government contractors, a halo 
still hangs over the cradle of American naval 
officers. 



IN THE FULL FLOOD OF AN AUTUMNAL DAY 

By CLINTON SCOLLARD 



In the full flood of an autumnal day 
Above a stream with swirling tide I stood, 
Where leaves, wind-reft from off a hillside wood, 

Swept swiftly by in variant array. 

The ash-bough sere, the crimson sumach spray, 
The elm-branch still in emerald lustihood, 
The oak-sprig held by ancient Druids good, — 

All these were borne upon their eddying way. 

Yet as I gazed upon the stream I saw 

Not these torn waifs of tempest, but instead 
Humanity, — its joys and hopes and fears, — 
By some immutable, eternal law 

(Blithe Youth, hale Manhood, Age with whitened head) 
Whirled down the ceaseless current of the years. 



NINETEENTH CENTURY BOSTON 
JOURNALISM 

XI. 

More Political Reminiscences : Cleveland's Civil-Service and Tariff-Reform- Hopes and 
Disappointments : Municipal Developments : The Great City Trans- 
portation and Lighting Systems 

By EDWARD H. CLEMENT 



D^=*5r 


ri^V^'l 


: ^ 


iMii 


m 



Y last chapter dealt with the 
difficulties the Transcript en- 
countered in endeavoring to 
be loyal both to the Republi- 
can party under the domina- 
tion of Blaine, especially after his nomina- 
tion for the Presidency, and to the higher 
ideals in politics to which the paper's in- 
telligent constituency in Boston and Cam- 
bridge manifestly committed its editorial 
course. The election of Cleveland meant 
that certain reliances of the "stalwart" 
Republicanism which the Transcript had 
refused to countenance would be relegated 
to the rear and certain other tendencies 
would be permitted to have at least one 
innings at last. There would be a letting 
up on the South as the South; there would 
be some respect paid, in form and preten- 
sion at least, to the principles of Civil-Serv- 
ice Reform; and there would be an effort 
to loosen the strangle-hold of the high tar- 
iff — the tariff for neither revenue nor pro- 
tection, but for plunder. It is gratifying 
now to discover by the editorial scrap-book 
of those days that the paper kept its course 
pretty steadily laid by the fixed stars of the 
ideal principles on these several questions. 
Here is what it said on the matter of eter- 
nally " lambasting " the " Rebel Brigadiers." 

To treat the South as the unchangeable, invet- 
erate enemy of the country and of humanity, and 
to inflame popular ignorance for a political point 
in a campaign, is to strike an unfeeling and unpa- 
triotic blow at the delicate and difficult beginning 
of a better understanding between the two races. 
The best minds of the country are now at work on 
the problem of discovering how two races that are 
no more, and probably less, in fact, mutually re- 
pugnant there than here can live together in peace 
and mutual helpfulness. 



As to tariff-reform, the paper took an ad- 
vanced stand and held it firmly, but fore- 
told the Democratic betrayal that dished it 
in the end: 

Congressman Randall of Pennsylvania has 
made a speech at Atlanta, Ga., which shows 
plainly enough what the future course of politics 
is to be. It was addressed to Southerners, but it 
had not a word about slavery or the war or recon- 
struction or the negro vote; that is, politics for 
schoolma'ams and ministers and the hack stump- 
ers of whom we have heard the last, we hope, 
for at least two years. No; Mr. Randall means 
business, and his business is to fix the South 
solid for the flag and a protective tariff. He 
quoted the Democratic platform to prove that it 
was for a protective tariff, high enough in all cases 
to make up to American manufacturers the differ- 
ence between the cost of production here and the 
cost of production abroad. Mr. Morrison and Mr. 
Carlisle and Mr. Cleveland evidently believed that 
the platform contained something very different, 
and we shall soon begin to witness the collision of 
these different views of the same thing. Mean- 
while, as to-day's newspapers have it, the South- 
ern pig iron has already begun to invade the 
Northern and Eastern markets, and crowd still 
further the distressed Pennsylvania irons. Penn- 
sylvania must lose no time in enlisting the South- 
ern iron-makers for the tariff war, as the Southern 
furnaces, like those in Michigan, could make 
money without it, where Pennsylvania could not; 
but, of course, still more with it, at the expense of 
the rest of the country. 

How eager and ready the Transcript was 
to encourage the Democratic administra- 
tion in well-doing by generous credit and 
faith in its intentions is evident from the 
following : 

But it is not merely the force of clerks at Wash- 
ington, but the whole country, to whom the Presi- 
dent's determination to take the government offices 
out of politics has brought great satisfaction and 
relief. The professional office-seeking and office - 
holding class, whose indecent emphasis on their 
own personal claims and expectations would give 



BOSTON JOURNALISM 



93 



the idea that their interest is all there is in politics, 
are receiving notice all around that the people are 
no longer to be fooled with that notion. 

That the Transcript was really and truly 
independent, as fair for one side as the 
other, and as willing to accept the good to 
be achieved from the hand of one party 
as the other, and pledged, according to the 
genuine independent program, to hold 
either party to a strict responsibility for 
any treachery to the cause, is clearly to be 
seen in the following leader of about this 
time: 

Now, then, is the hour for civil-service reformers 
to hold hard. They have no reason for discour- 
agement. They have seen their despised "fancy" 
issue become the commanding one before the 
country to-day. Upon it this Administration will 
either split and go down or build itself as on a 
rock in the esteem of the people of all parties as 
distinguished from the professional politicians of 
either party. It is no longer a fancy issue, but the 
most popular, the plainest, the very centre of pub- 
lic interest for the next four years. The rejected 
stone has become the head of the corner. This is 
the issue which all can understand, and on 
which the lines can be strictly drawn. 

The irony of fate or, as some would call it, an 
overruling Providence, never selected a more sin- 
gular instrumentality for a given work than in 
setting the old Democratic party — the party of 
Jackson and Marcy, of Tammany, Tweed, and 
Tilden — to work, out the extinction of the spoils 
system. But it cannot help itself. The civil- 
service-reform pattern is set, and the Demo- 
cratic national mill must turn out that goods for 
this term, and can make no other. To mix the 
metaphor still further, imitation, fraudulent, or 
veneered goods will not answer. The country has 
come to be a keen judge of cheap veneering vir- 
tuousness in high places, and will now demand 
the real article — the solid, old-fashioned mahog- 
any — and will take no other. 

For Mr. Cleveland will either carry out his 
program — which even the professional politicians, 
the Phelpses and the Collinses, admit to be a suc- 
cess with the country — or he will not. If he 
does not, his party will be whirled out of office by 
the same force which was the means of putting it 
in by a very narrow margin. No other party can 
thus punish and defeat it, except, of course, on 
guarantees of doing better. At all events, then, 
another presidential canvass would thus have to 
be fought on civil-service reform. Carl Schurz 
said last year that the critical hour for civil- service 
reform would come when the control of the Gov- 
ernment with its patronage passed from the Re- 
publican party to the Democratic. The hour of 
its sure triumph will come when it passes on that 
express issue from the Democratic back to the Re- 
publican party. That is mathematically demon- 
strable. 

Another part of the Transcript record 
that can be looked back to with some satis- 
faction is the part it played in the inception 



of the great developments of the local trans- 
portation system which has made Greater 
Boston one of the " object-lessons " of the 
world as to the benefit of the consolida- 
tion of a number of short lines in a city 
into a single system, provided the whole 
are held well in hand by public control. At 
the outset of Mr. Henry M. Whitney's 
grand campaign in local transportation, 
the Transcript incurred the opposition of 
many of its readers among "the classes" 
whose carriage-horses were frightened on 
suburban roads by the new horseless ve- 
hicles, by championing the rights of "the 
masses" to a chance at the country roads 
and green fields and cheap homes, with 
cheap and convenient access to them. A 
distinguished lady appeared on the battle- 
field one morning, invading the editorial 
sanctum behind a bank of fresh violets 
heaped on her muff, to say that she thought 
it a shame that she could no longer drive 
out to her country-seat in Brookline; and a 
distinguished public man of that town which 
wants to enjoy the advantages of the city 
and escape its responsibilities inveighed 
eloquently against the speed and sparkings 
of the great electric monsters that had de- 
stroyed the seclusion of "the wealthiest 
town in the world." The spirit opposing 
at that time the expansion of which every- 
body is so proud and fond at present is 
easily to be understood from the following 
editorial leader from the hand of the strong 
and sensible editor of the Boston Journal, 
Col. W. W. Clapp, in the days when it was 
the leading family morning and evening 
paper of New England, almost a "family 
Bible," indeed, for the great so-called " mid- 
dle classes" throughout the State: 

If the West -End enterprise ever proves to be of 
any value to Boston's development and conve- 
niences of travel, it will not be because of any cod- 
dling by the Boston public. You can get up a pe- 
tition against it, signed by everybody far and near, 
at two hours' notice. It matters little what may 
be the subject of complaint. — Transcript. 

Bostonians have a peculiar way of antagonizing 
Boston. A limited number of very worthy though 
somewhat narrow-minded citizens are always to 
be found in opposition to every great public im- 
provement. The introduction of pure water was 
opposed most strenuously, and the widening of 
every street and avenue has not been carried to 
completion without opposition. Bostonians pos- 
sess a fatal facility for limiting communications, 
and they are also adepts at holding front-parlor 
meetings, where a handful of men organize an op- 
position to every advance which interferes with 



94 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Henry M. Whitney, who planned and executed the consolidation of local transportation in Greater 

Boston, resulting in the building of the subway by the city of Boston. 

Born at Conway, Mass., 1839 



their personal comfort. With this class Boston 
has no future. To live in undisturbed possession 
of their homesteads, to resist every encroachment 
upon their mistaken idea that they own the streets, 
and to pour cold water upon any innovation 
which threatens their supposed invested rights ap- 
pears to be the aim and object of their existence. 
But Boston has spread out in spite of these ob- 
structionists, and will continue to do so; for the 
present generation of active, enterprising men 



have an idea that capital can find profitable in- 
vestment in Boston, and they propose to try the 
experiment of home expansion, even if they have 
to fight for it. And after all, what are these tem- 
porary inconveniences compared with the general 
prosperity of the whole city? It is disagreeable to 
have the streets dug up for the different purposes 
which require it; but all this digging means bread 
and butter for the laboring classes, it means busi- 
ness for the city, and it means progress. We cannot 



BOSTON JOURNALISM 



95 




PHOTO 8Y PURDV 



Senator Winthrop Murray Crane, who, as Governor of Massachusetts, vetoed the Boston Elevated 

Railroad Bill and steadfastly resisted all schemes to allow the Elevated Company to 

control underground as well as elevated traffic 



combine the activity of a great city with the rural 
advantages of a village; and, if the noise and hum 
of business life, if the blocked streets and crowded 
sidewalks, are troublesome to the nerves of a few 
they can easily find relief by returning to some of 
the inland cities, where they can vegetate in melan- 
choly solitude. The Transcript is quite right in 
its comments upon the opposition offered to the 
enterprise of the West End Railway Company. 



The greatest local enterprise, involving a larger 
outlay of capital than any single public improve- 
ment ever started in this city, has been most un- 
reasonably attacked, not by the business men of 
Boston, but by a few active citizens who rep- 
resent the past rather than the future of Boston. 
Every man in trade, every man who lets a store 
or who is dependent for his income from any in- 
dustrial pursuit in Boston, knows that the only 



96 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



way to keep Boston abreast of its enterprising 
competitors is to encourage every movement and 
every private expenditure of money that gives 
employment to labor and keeps the city on the 
onward march. 

But there was a sequel to this chapter in 
the evolution of the Boston street-railroad 
system. Outside of Mr. Whitney's bold 
and comprehensive purchases and consol- 
idations remained the abortive and clumsy 
Meigs Elevated Railroad. Its heedlessly 
beveled wheels and trucks were of no use; 
but it possessed a valuable charter, and 
this had already caught the sharp eye of 
speculation in New York, as the following 
editorial paragraph in a New York paper 
of that date suggests: 

After a little more experience with jobs of the 
Meigs character the people of Boston will be apt 
to conclude that it will be better to hold the streets 
in its own possession for rapid-transit purposes, 
and have the city build the road and then let out 
its operation to the highest bidder for short pe- 
riods of time, as they are to do in New York, or 
operate the system itself. The old plan of giving 
away these valuable public franchises for free ex- 
ploitation by private monopoly, as so glaringly 
embodied in the Meigs bill, is not growing in popu- 
larity. Economic thought long ago rejected it as 
most unwise, and it is practically being rejected 
now by many American cities. Boston opinion 
ought to be ripe now for rejecting it also. The 
Transcript already seems to be prepared to wel- 
come a system of transit under municipal man- 
agement, saying: 

"It is valuable assistance to the cause of public 
rights to the streets and the entire use and benefit 
thereof — the opposition of those legislators who 
are willing to sacrifice the public interests for the 
promotion of one of the most audacious and dis- 
reputable stock-jobbing conspiracies in the annals 
of Massachusetts legislation." 

The story of the contest that was waged 
with this Meigs charter as the principal 
weapon in the hands of a syndicate that 
intended to capture the streets of Boston 
for perpetuity and private profit by means 
of it is worth recalling in this connection. 
Mr. Whitney suddenly retired from the 
street-railway, it will be remembered, and 
turned his attention to the development of 
coal-mines in the British provinces, for the 
manufacture of gas and coke, in an ambi- 
tious scheme for piping the illuminating 
and fuel gas throughout the State of Massa- 
chusetts. 

Thanks to Mr. Whitney's initiative, the 
street-railways of Greater Boston have 
been merged into a single great corporation; 
but the municipality still retains the effect- 



ive control that inheres in the possession of 
an indispensable link, in fact, the keystone 
of the system, — the subway through the 
heart of the city. This merger of the former 
city and suburban companies was subse- 
quently crowned by the acquisition, at a 
nominal price, by Mr. John Pierpont Mor- 
gan, prompted by his Boston associates, 
of the then apparently valueless, unwork- 
able charter for the Meigs Elevated Rail- 
way. This charter, bought for a song, be- 
cause handicapped with its queer mechan- 
ical system and with certain provisions for 
the protection of public rights and abutting 
property, making it impossible to construct 
it where city real estate has great value, was 
found to have a precious " joker" embodied 
in it in the provision securing the irrevo- 
cability of any location once given it. This 
"joker" had escaped due attention in the 
framing of the law in the midnight of the 
last day of a session of the Legislature. 
With this $200,000 charter in the hands of 
Mr. Morgan's Boston syndicate they ac- 
quired, through a lease, all the West End 
consolidated roads and their franchises, 
and the Boston Elevated Railway Com- 
pany thus began to receive dividends at the 
rate of 6 % on a capitalization of ten million 
dollars long before any train had been run 
over any part of its elevated structure. 

But this elevated railroad with its unique 
tenure in perpetuity consists of two widely 
sundered ends without any connecting 
middle part; it now employs the leased 
Tremont-Street subway for this connection; 
but that was never built for trains of large 
passenger-cars: it was designed only for 
street-cars, and its use by the Elevated has 
always been an awkward and uncomfort- 
able makeshift — inconvenient for both 
the railroad and the public. This first sub- 
way quickly outgrown, the demand for 
another subway arose, and the Elevated saw 
in that necessity its opportunity to secure 
the much-desired all-its-own connection 
between its hitherto disjoined sections. It 
naturally battled hard for a connection that 
should carry with it the permanency of 
tenure and independence of the city be- 
longing to the rest of the Elevated locations. 
It made three different and progressive at- 
tempts to throw off the yoke of municipal 
control that it has to wear through the city 
ownership of the subway. The first was 
broached in the disguise of a movement 



BOSTON JOURNALISM 



97 



coming from the side of the public. To 
carry out the deception, the all-but-defunct 
"Citizens' Association" was revived and 
used to propose a tunnel that should be the 
property of the Elevated Company. The 
counsel and secretary of the Citizens' As- 
sociation, who was about all there was 
to the association at the time, made no se- 
cret of the fact that he was acting under the 
unofficial suggestions of influential mem- 
bers of the Boston Transit Commission, 
which body indeed assisted officially in the 
drawing of the bill. This so-called Citizens' 
Association bill of 1900 proposed to have 
the new subway — the future main verte- 
bral trunk-line of the whole system, be it 
understood — built and owned by the com- 
pany instead of by the city. 

This bill failing, another one was put in 
at the next Legislature, in which the Ele- 
vated corporation waived its former ex- 
pectations of reimbursement for the cost of 
constructing the new subway, estimated at 
about $6, 000,000, contenting itself with the 
prospect of forty years of absolute owner- 
ship and control of the entire system, — 
the first-built and city-owned subway 
and all. It was now willing to make a free 
gift to the city of what it had demanded 
$6,000,000 for only the year before. This 
was the bill celebrated for being passed by 
the Legislature in spite of the vigorous 
protests of the best citizens, and passed 
with overwhelming votes in both Houses, 
only to be vetoed by Governor Crane — 
after which the Legislature at once retreated 
in a perfect stampede! The veto was mainly 
because it gave absolute and irrevocable 
control of location in the city streets for 
more than a generation at the least. Thanks 
to the vigorous and able opposition of 
Mayor Patrick A. Collins, the final attempt, 
made the next year after, to cut out the 
city-ownership of the subway links of the 
system, by means of which at any time the 
public can bring the great corporation to 
its terms, was again brought to naught; 
and henceforth all subways will be in the 
hands of the public, through the Transit 
Commission, representing the city and 
State. 

Here then, in Boston, we have something 
approaching the ideal condition, or, rather, 
tendencies as yet not diverted from the di- 
rection toward the ideal; that is to say, the 
public facilities are increasing and the re- 



turns of capital are really generous, beyond 
expectation indeed, as shown by the rise of 
the market premium on the stock. In 
other words, the public is reaping, by con- 
trol of and cooperation with the corpora- 
tion, some share of the prosperity it makes 
for the road in a progressive extension of 
transfer privileges and better service. When 
the original organizer of this great system, 
Mr. Henry M. Whitney, suddenly withdrew 
all his interest in what his financial genius 
and courage had created, he avowed as one 
reason for this action his conviction that the 
public was bound to take the profits of the 
street-railway business. The Legislature 
had indeed cut down the amount of stock 
to be issued for his merging operation, and 
when the Elevated Company was ready to 
take a lease of the West End Street Rail- 
way Company for ninety-nine years and 
pay eight per cent on the common stock of 
that company, the citizens' protest against 
that lease resulted in the refusal of the Rail- 
road Commissioners to approve the lease, 
and the making of a new lease in which the 
term was cut to less than twenty-five years 
and the rental was made seven per cent 
instead of eight per cent on the common 
stock of the West End Street Railway Com- 
pany. 

Mr. Whitney, on retiring from the street- 
railway interests, threw his great powers, 
personal and financial, into the illumina- 
ting-gas interests; or, rather, into one of the 
two competing gas "combines" contesting 
this metropolitan district. While convinced 
that the public was in future to limit the 
profits of the street-railroad business, he 
still had faith that the other sort of control 
would be maintained over the gas situation, 
with such issues of obligations of the existing 
companies as might be deemed necessary 
to attract investors. With the appropriately 
styled Bay State system — the waters of 
the bay being largely represented therein — 
he entered into a sort of " gentlemen's 
agreement" to supply it with gas from his 
new plant for the manufacture of gas and 
coke of the Nova Scotia coal. The agree- 
ment evaded the control of the State Gas 
Commission, as being one made by gentle- 
men and not by a corporation; but the sub- 
sequent confusion which caused Mr. Whit- 
ney no end of embarrassment and loss would 
seem to be an indication that, after all, ac- 



9 8 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



cepted public control is the best of guaran- 
tees for capitalists, as well as for the pub- 
lic. All the parties to a gentlemen's agree- 
ment, it seems, may sometimes not be gen- 
tlemen. The evasion of the State Gas Com- 
mission's effective control through keep- 
ing the coke-manufacturing company that 
supplies the gas [beyond its supervision 
makes a farce of the whole pretension of 
supervision. The seller and purchaser being 
practically the same, of course the price is 
made whatever is necessary to conceal the 
real cost from official public knowledge. 

As the attempt to capture the subway 
for private property was engineered at one 
point by the so-called " Citizens' Associa- 
tion," which was simply a survival and 
skeleton of its former self, so this gas con- 
solidation was finally consummated through 
a like use of the similarly moribund Public 
Franchise League. The whole community 
nowadays may be divided into two general 
classes, — the exploiters of the public in its 
common necessities, and the exploited. 
With the exploiters go a large and nebulous 
annex of investors in their stocks, their 
employees in the services, their lawyers, 
their legislators, and their hirelings of the 
press. The gentlemen who compose the 
exploiting class may rank as " prominent 
citizens" and "good citizens," and their 
representatives in the press furiously de- 
nounce "grafters" and expose their graft- 
ing — that is to say, among the small fry. 
They may support and even be active mem- 
bers of a "good-government" club and hon- 
estly believe they have the public interest 
at heart. But they cannot forego their pos- 
sible dividends out of the nickel-mines in 
the public streets of the city, and in the gas- 
mains and telephone-tubes thereunder. As 
Tolstoi says: "We will do almost anything 
for the poor man's relief: we will open soup- 
kitchens and hospitals; we will teach him 
the three r's; we will discourse band music 
to him and keep up religious institutions 



and give him lots of good advice. Yes, we 
will do almost anything for the poor man — 
anything but get off his back." 

There is much discussion as to "what re- 
tards Boston's growth" nowadays. There 
are club meetings held and investigations 
started, both public and private, official and 
non-official, touching various problems of 
transportation by sea and land, the growth 
or rather the absence of growth of our pop- 
ulation; and beating all is the strenuous ac- 
tivity of the Mayor in his bizarre schemes 
for the promotion of the "bigger, busier, 
better Boston" of his ambition, including 
a patronage bureau of publicity for the ad- 
vertising of the same. All these efforts at 
organization of business prosperity by busi- 
ness men fail to keep in mind that there is 
something beyond and above all organiza- 
tion. "There is something else — there is 
a spirit moving over the face of the waters, 
and there are the realms of ideas and of 
thought." Boston has never at any period 
of its long history thriven by and for busi- 
ness alone; Boston has never been without 
commercial importance; but there have 
been great periods when there was that 
"something else" — that "spirit moving 
over the face of the waters, in the realms of 
ideas and of thought." At certain of our 
historic epochs business has been sent to 
the dogs for the time being, in obedience 
to "the spirit moving over the face of the 
waters," and a larger life for the city was 
sought, with a confidence and faith that 
proved to be well founded, in the realms of 
ideas and of thought. Boston cannot ex- 
pect to lift itself without a new birth of the 
public spirit of old. Merely lifting ourselves 
continually by the boot-straps of our past 
glory or even of our present achievement 
will not answer. We must renew the an- 
cient forward lead in ideas that has distin- 
guished the Boston of history at every crisis 
in the country's political and social evolu- 
tion. 



EDITORIALS 



99 



ITHE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 

Founded 1758 

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STEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



The Republic of the Green 
Mountains 

IT is not popularly known, or at least not 
often related, that for thirteen years 
there existed up among the hills of the pres- 
ent State of Vermont a community of people 
owing allegiance to no other community on 
the face of the earth; and for fourteen years 
more, from 1777 to 1791, organized as an 
I independent, sovereign State, as independ- 
jent and sovereign as is the United States 
Ito-day. Never a dependency of Great Brit- 
lain, these people were the first to resist by 
jforce the tyranny of the Royalists and to 
suffer the shedding of blood in the cause of 
j American independence; for before any 
[declaration of war, the first battle of the 
(Revolution was fought at Westminster court- 
house, and William French was wounded 
(to death by a Royalist bullet. Not one of 
the original thirteen States of the Union, 
and only one other of its present members, 
Texas, ever had a separate independent ex- 
istence; but each was founded as a ward or 
[dependency of some European power, or 
existed as territory of the United States. 
It is a unique distinction which must be 
conceded to the people of what was orig- 
inally known as the New Hampshire Grants ; 
and what is more, it is a distinction which 
was not accidental, but the hard-earned 
victory of remarkable courage, sagacity, 
and endurance. Born in a thunder-storm, 
christened in the first decisive battle of the 



Revolution, harassed and betrayed by her 
neighbor on the west, coveted by her neigh- 
bors on the east and south, threatened and 
cajoled by the British on the north, and ig- 
nored, neglected, or antagonized by the 
Congress, the little republic had a stormy and 
hazardous experience during the twice seven 
years of her life. But her hardy people 
never flinched, never receded from their 
just claims, never failed to do their duty in 
the general struggle of the colonies for in- 
dependence, and never yielded allegiance 
to any power but Almighty God until at 
their own solicitation they were admitted 
into the union of the States on their own 
terms. 

For fourteen years the little republic 
maintained her sovereignty against Great 
Britain, against New York, and against 
Congress; for both during and after the 
Revolution the majority of Congress, 
swayed by the power and influence of the 
State of New York, was hostile to her. 
With no representation either in Congress 
or in the Legislature of New York, and 
without the means of influence to make her- 
self felt in either body, she was continuously 
refused recognition of her independence 
and admission to the Union, and her peo- 
ple denied the title to their homes. The 
contest of the Colonies in the Revolution 
was against taxation without representation. 
That of Vermont, through the war and 
eight years after, was against confiscation 
without representation. "No oppression 
charged upon Great Britain by America 
approached that sought to be visited by 
Congress and New York upon Vermont, 
while she was fighting side by side with 
them in the struggle for national independ- 
ence." While the Colonies were fighting 
one common enemy, Vermont was fighting 
two additional foes more threatening, more 
subtle, more exasperating. The defeat of 
the British at Bennington was easy com- 
pared with the continuous task of success- 
fully meeting the oppressive measures and 
misrepresentations of New York and the 
denials and neglect of Congress. And yet 
she won, and without compromising her 
fidelity to the larger cause of American in- 
dependence. 

It is not strange that under such a burden 
and provocation a spirit should have been 
developed in the people and their leaders 
which called forth uncomplimentary ex- 



IOO 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



pressions. When Ethan Allen and his band 
of settlers resisted the officers of the law 
sent from Albany to seize the farm of James 
Breakenridge at Bennington, they were 
dubbed the "Bennington mob," and were 
characterized as "fierce Republicans, re- 
fusing to become tenants to any one and in- 
sisting on owning lands they should occupy; 
whose whole conversation is tainted with 
politics, Cromwellian politics; who talk 
about slaves to arbitrary power; and whose 
indifference to the Mother Country and 
whose illiberal opinions and manners are 
extremely offensive to all loyal subjects of 
the King." 

But this "Bennington mob" was success- 
ful in defending the homes of the people of 
the "Grants" from the rapacity and greed 
of the Colonial Governors of New York, 
even with a price upon the heads of its lead- 
ers. And it was this same "mob" which 
won, some years after at the same place, 
the "first success of the Revolution which 
bore any fruit;" for the victorious guns in 
the battle of Bennington sounded the first 
note of the knell of doom of the power of 
Great Britain over the Colonies. The con- 
sequences were immediate and far-reaching. 
Washington took heart once more, and a 
general despair gave way to confidence. 
The militia poured into General Gates's 
camp at Saratoga, who had succeeded 
Schuyler. The British commander under- 
stood the meaning, and although he fought 
desperately, it was in vain; his invincibility 
was gone. On the seventeenth of October 
he surrendered. " If I had succeeded there," 
Burgoyne wrote to his government, "I 
should have marched to Albany." But he 
did not succeed. The "Bennington mob" 
prevented, and the junction between Clin- 
ton and Burgoyne was not effected. 

It was about this same "mob" too that 
Burgoyne wrote, a little before the battle of 
Bennington, "The New Hampshire Grants 
. . . now abounds in the most active and 
rebellious race of the continent and hangs 
like a gathering storm on my left," which 
reveals not only the British commander's 
estimate of the Green Mountain Boys, but 
also the fact that in his thought that was 
something more than a foraging party which 
he sent out; that the principal object of the 
expedition was by no means the stores at 
Bennington, but the removal of the only 
obstruction to his victorious march which 



he feared. It was, too, his choice troops 
that he sent out, and under his best com- 
manders, and with orders to cross the moun- 
tains to Rockingham, in order to bring 
them into Schuyler's rear. But alas, that 
"mob," led by Allen and Warner and 
Stark, was lacking in almost everything ex- 
cept men and patriotism and courage, with | 
no artillery, no cavalry, no transportation, 
and "no commissariat except the women 
on the farms; " that "mob "was made up of 
farmers fighting for their rights and homes, 
who, if defeated, would have no homes to 
go to, for what Burgoyne might leave New 
York would take; men who to a man were 
there of their own free will and with no ex- 
pectation of personal reward; men who 
carried in their breasts the spirit of Stephen 
Fay, whose five sons were all in the fight, 
and who said when the first-born was 
brought home dead, "I thank God that I 
had a son willing to give his life for his 
country." 

The charge of insubordination has been 
sometimes made against the Green Moun- 
tain Boys, and technically there is ground 
for it. Ethan Allen refused to surrender 
the command of the expedition against Ti- 
conderoga to Benedict Arnold, who brought 
a commission from the Massachusetts 
Council of Safety. But who planned the 
expedition and raised the troops, and what 
rights had the Massachusetts Council in the 
case? John Stark, who, though hailing 
from across the Connecticut River, was one 
with the Vermonters in sympathy and spirit, 
when he reached Manchester on his way to 
Bennington was met by a peremptory order,, 1 
from Congress to march at once to join 
Schuyler, leaving the Vermonters to their 
fate, and refused to obey the order. For 
this he was reprimanded by Congress, and! 
New Hampshire was commanded to revoke, 
the orders under which he was acting. But! 
the cause was more to him than was Con- 
gress, and he understood, and knew he un-i j 
derstood, the necessities better than thatjj 
body. And when the news of the battleij 
reached Congress they sent him a vote ofj) 
thanks, "their only contribution to the vic- 
tory that caused the destruction of Bur-j 
goyne." > > | 

They who criticise the independent spirit 
of the Vermonters during and before the! 
Revolution forget that they owed no polit-j 
ical allegiance whatever to the Colonies, 



EDITORIALS 



IOI 



and little gratitude; that the British were 
not their only nor most menacing enemy; 
ind that they were bound by all the con- 
siderations that appeal most to men of 
nonor to defend first of all their own par- 
ticular territory. And yet they did not ig- 
nore the call of Massachusetts in the time 
3f her need, while Congress gave them no 
relief at all in -their time of need, but had 
its ears ever open to the maligning voice of 
New York. Those very orders which were 
sent to Stark, and which he disregarded, 
show how utterly indifferent was Congress 
l .o the fate of the Green Mountain State, 
pen though one refuses to see in the order 
;he sinister designs of the New York dele- 
gates. 

The outbreak of the Revolution found 
:he people of the New Hampshire Grants 
ilready engaged in a contest in defense of 
:heir lands, which for several years had 
:axed their utmost resources. These lands 
:hey had received and paid for under reg- 
ular grants from the Colonial Governor of 
New Hampshire. But with covetous eyes 
New York had laid claim to them and was 
repeatedly making new grants to specu- 
lators and political favorites, who in turn 
demanded of the Vermonters the repur- 
hase of their farms with no compensation 
for improvements and under threat of con- 
iscation. Without money and influence, 
md with only township organizations, they 
lad no legal means of resistance, and after 
i hopeless effort to obtain justice through 
:he process of law at Albany they were 
driven to resort to other means. Sheriffs 
md their posses, sent to dispossess them of 
:heir homes, were tumbled into the river, 
)r beech-sealed, or otherwise defied. 

When the authority of Great Britain was 
it last thrown off by the Colonies by the 
Declaration of Independence, the organ- 
zation of a separate and stronger govern- 
ment by the people of the Grants was un- 
tvoidable. Already, five years before, they 
md made, at Bennington, their Declaration 
)f Independence — the first on the conti- 
nent — and later had made good with the 
'Bennington mob." In July, 1776, a se- 
ries of conventions was begun for the pur- 
pose of organization, and in January, 1777, 
mother Declaration was formulated and 
^iven to the world, affirming that forever 
lereafter the New Hampshire Grants 
should be known as the free and independ- 



ent State of New Connecticut. In the fol- 
lowing June the convention changed the 
name to Vermont, and on the second of 
July the representatives met at Windsor to 
form a constitution for the new State. 

It was while considering this proposed 
constitution that the invasion of Burgoyne 
was announced by a terrified horseman. It 
came near ending their deliberations, for the 
delegates were for going home at once. But 
fortunately they were delayed by a violent 
thunder-storm. And amidst the fire and 
artillery of the storm the constitution was 
adopted. The coming of the storm was also 
fortunate, one might say providential, in 
that it permitted arrangements for a pro- 
visional government by the appointment 
of the Council of Safety, which so saga- 
ciously and boldly provided temporarily for 
the defense of the State. 

Of that constitution writes one of na- 
tional and international reputation: 

"Framed by a rural people, in hardship 
and poverty, a foreign enemy at their very 
gates, and a still more inveterate foe in the 
sister province that should have been their 
protector, its authors neither statesmen nor 
lawyers, untrained in political science or 
literary accomplishments, but one of them 
having ever sat in a legislative assembly 
before, they were still doing their best under 
every discouragement, with such slender 
acquirements as they had, toward the foun- 
dation of a government that would com- 
mand the respect of mankind. The con- 
stitution of Pennsylvania was doubtless in 
a considerable degree their model. But 
there was much in their work that was 
original. And it displayed a breadth and 
elevation of view, a profound sagacity, an 
independence of thought, and a sublime 
faith, not reasonably to be looked for in 
such an assembly." 

Two or three features of the constitution 
are noteworthy. It contained the first pro- 
hibition of slavery ever put forth on this 
continent. "No male person," it read, 
"born in this country or brought over sea, 
ought to be holden by law to serve any per- 
son as a servant, slave or apprentice, after 
he arrives to the age of twenty-one years; 
nor female in like manner after she arrives 
to the age of eighteen years." That this was 
more than sentiment on paper was shown 
on the following November, when a negro 
woman with her child fell into the hands of 



102 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



a company of the Green Mountain Boys, 
and their commander, Ebenezer Allen, 
gave her her freedom in a paper containing 
these words: "Being conscientious that it is 
not right in the sight of God to keep slaves, 
.... I do therefore give the said Dinah 
and her child their freedom, to pass and re- 
pass anywhere through the United States 
of America, ... as though she were born 
free." 

Seeming to foresee that one of the great- 
est dangers of a free government would be 
the greed for office which regards public 
office as the opportunity for the plunder of 
the public till, those men wrote into their 
constitution these words: "If any man is 
called into public service to the prejudice 
of his private affairs, he has a right to rea- 
sonable compensation; and whenever an 
office through increase of fees or otherwise 
becomes so profitable as to occasion many 
to apply for it, the profits ought to be les- 
sened by the Legislature." 

The following declaration, required of 
each representative in the Legislature be- 
fore taking his seat, is significant of the 
temper of the people: "You do believe in 
one God, the Creator and Governor of the 
Universe, the rewarder of the good and the 
punish er of the wicked. And you do ac- 
knowledge the Scriptures of the Old and 
New Testament to be given by Divine in- 
spiration: and do own and profess the Prot- 
estant religion." Except in the last require- 
ment, which may not have been wholly in- 
defensible in those days, the liberality of 
the article in its contents is as remarkable 
as the fact of its incorporation in the con- 
stitution. Those men, however insistent on 
the essentials of their religious faith, were 
imbued with a spirit of liberty that reached 
even their religion. 

When the convention adjourned at Wind- 
sor, the Council of Safety, to which was en- 
trusted the government of the State until an 
election could be held, proceeded at once to 
Manchester to be near the scene of the ex- 
pected conflict. The work of this Council 
has been but scantily recognized by his- 
torians of the Revolution outside of Ver- 
mont; for here was the wisdom and inspira- 
tion which made possible the victory at 
Bennington. Thomas Chittenden, the first 
Governor of the new State, was its presi- 
dent, and Ira Allen, the youngest member 
and brother of the redoubtable Ethan Al- 



len, was its secretary. Two questions, both 
very difficult of solution under the circum- 
stances, were uppermost, — the raising of 
troops and the securing of funds with which 
to equip them for the field. 

But before settling down to the consider- 
ation of these questions three calls were 
sent out by the Council, — one to the officers 
of the militia, urging them to immediate 
action; another to the New Hampshire 
Council of Safety for assistance; and a third 
to General Schuyler, of the Continental 
army, for reinforcements. The response 
to the first two was speedy and cordial; but 
Schuyler wrote declining to "notice a four- 
teenth State unknown to the Confederacy." 
Ira Allen was for raising a full regiment, 
but a large majority was against him; in the 
unorganized condition of the new State and 
with the utter lack of money it was impos- 
sible, they said, to raise more than two 
companies of sixty men each. The debate 
was long and pessimistic. But Allen per- 
sisted, and finally his proposal was incor- 
porated in a motion which was carried, but 
with this condition added to it, — that Al- 
len should devise the means for raising the 
money. Allen accepted the condition, and 
the Council adjourned till morning. In the 
morning, after a sleepless night, the young 
secretary reported the startling plan to con- 
fiscate the property of the Tories, "the first 
instance in America of seizing the property 
of the enemies of American independence." 
But four months after, it was recommended 
to all the States by Congress. It had, too, 
the important effect of forcing the issue be- 
tween Tory and patriot to the decisive point, 
uncovering many of the secret enemies of 
the State. 

The story of Vermont for eight years 
after the close of the Revolution is the story 
of her effort to gain admission to the Union, 
which had indeed begun before the adop- 
tion of her constitution. What kept her so 
long out of the Union was her troubles with 
her sister States; for the formation of her 
constitution did not put an end to the con- 
troversy with New York, but was the most 
effective step taken thus far by the Vermont- 
ers to maintain that controversy. For sev- 
eral years afterward the two States contin- 
ued to question and resist the authority of 
the other, often appealing to Congress, and 
sometimes threatening civil war. In 1784 
the question was settled in favor of Vermont, 



EDITORIALS 



io 3 



and, conscious that she had gained in im- 
portance and prestige by her victory, as 
well as by her general prosperity and free- 
dom from the financial obligations incurred 
by the colonies in consequence of the war, 
she took an aggressive attitude. The bor- 
der towns both of New Hampshire and 
New York had applied for admission to the 
Green Mountain State. The application 
was accepted, and by formal declaration 
she enlarged her boundaries both east and 
west. It was a bold step, but by it she aug- 
mented her resources, compelled the respect 
of her enemies, and gained the confidence 
of her friends. It is true it united New 
Hampshire and New York against her in 
her struggles with Congress, but it forced 
them to abandon a previous plan, secretly 
considered, of dividing up her territory be- 
tween them. And while it delayed her ad- 
mission to the Union, it put the other two 
States on the defensive, and forced them to 
name terms under which her appeal for ad- 
mission would surely be heeded, terms 
to which she was willing to accede, — the 
relinquishment of those border towns. 

But what really brought Congress to the 
point of action upon the question of Ver- 
mont's admission was the attempted nego- 
tiations of the British with the Green 
Mountain leaders. Notwithstanding some 
mystery connected with them, there is no 
question as to the negotiations, nor that 
Congress was thoroughly frightened. Nei- 
ther is there any real question as to the loy- 
alty and motive of the Vermonters, not- 
withstanding the aspersions that were made 
against their fidelity to the cause of national 
independence. Circumstantial evidence 
may point to a compromising situation, but 
there are certain facts to recall before ad- 
mitting the evidence as conclusive. We 
must remember that the northern frontier 
of the State was absolutely unprotected and 
the danger of invasion real. We must re- 
member that the Vermonters' right to make 
terms with Great Britain was as absolute as 
that of the United States. So they boldly 
told Congress that they would rather do 
this than submit to the government of New 
York. Even if they had seriously contem- 
plated such a step, they could not have been 
justly charged with plotting treason against 
a government in which they had no part. 
That their chief desire was to become a 
member of the Union is evident from the 



promise extracted from General Haldiman, 
the agent of the British, that so soon as they 
were admitted to the Union "all negotia- 
tions should cease, and any step that leads 
to it forgotten." And we should not forget 
the general situation of the little State — 
not only her isolation politically and her 
unprotected condition, but the opposition 
of her neighbors and the neglect of Congress. 
If the negotiations were pushed far, be- 
yond even the vaguely defined limits of 
diplomacy, the provocation and excuse were 
great; and if the Americans were deceived, 
there was as much deception of the British. 
Ira Allen and his colleagues were no traitors, 
then or ever. They were fighting for the 
rights and homes of their people. And 
they won, outwitting both their foes and 
their tempters. Whatever motive may be 
ascribed to them, it must be conceded that 
the whole affair was managed most adroitly, 
and the end most desired was accomplished, 
— the admission of the State into the Union. 
On the eighteenth day of February, 1791, 
the fourteenth star was added to the con- 
stellation of States, and the little Republic 
of the Green Mountains surrendered its 
sovereignty. 



The Political Outlook 

TO the discriminating man it is plain 
that Americans are living in a new 
political era. The presidency of Roosevelt 
has wrought many changes in our national 
economic and industrial affairs, but its 
effect upon our politics has been no less 
powerful and fundamental. For good or 
ill, the old days of manipulated national 
conventions have passed away. The people 
seldom are denied their wish for the highest 
candidate, but from now on they will have 
their demands obeyed without question. 
The bosses usually try to favor the strong- 
est and most popular candidate, anyhow; 
but the people of the parties henceforth will 
hardly pay as much attention to the ac- 
tions or pronouncements of the bosses. Yet 
it is this almost dictatorial attitude of the 
masses that is causing the bosses greatest 
perplexity and concern to-day — and for 
a most peculiar reason. That reason is 
the seeming apathy or incomprehensible 
silence of the masses on the question of the 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



next presidential nominee. Eleven months 
from the time New England Magazine 
subscribers are reading these pages all the 
various parties will have made their nomi- 
nations and the campaign will be under 
way. Yet to-day we are without the slight- 
est indication of the popular choice for 
President; we see absolutely no enthusiasm 
whatever in the Republican party and very 
little in any other party for any certain man 
for leader. No such condition ever ap- 
peared before. It is strange, and needs 
careful scrutiny. Why is it ? 

It is largely due to the indelible impres- 
sion which Mr. Roosevelt has made upon 
his countrymen. The people have been so 
stirred, so thrilled and inspired, or hypno- 
tized as his critics put it, by the acts and 
personality of the President that they have 
no eyes for any one else. It is not the lack 
of good material. The men whose sad 
" booms" are being presented to the public 
are above the average of candidates for the 
nomination. Take the Republican party 
first, for it is the party to which the Presi- 
dent belongs and the party of the majority 
as the country stands to-day. Taft, Fair- 
banks, Cannon, Hughes, La Follette, 
Foraker, and Knox are all able men, and 
men whose administrations would be ca- 
pable and clean. But there is no demand 
for them. Nor does the Democratic party 
wax fervent over its one candidate and cer- 
tain favorite, Mr. Bryan. The reason is 
the same. Party lines have been largely 
broken down, and the Democratic party is 
not ready to fix its faith upon any man until 
it knows what the Republican party will do. 
The deduction from all these facts and cir- 
cumstances is obvious. The people as a 
whole prefer a continuance in office of 
President Roosevelt, and if he had not 
placed himself outside the lists no serious 
thought of any other man would be enter- 
tained by the people to-day. And even 
under the circumstances of the President's 
positive refusal to run again, made on elec- 
tion night, 1904, and repeated often since 
that time, the country cannot content itself 
with that refusal. The towering figure of 
Roosevelt casts a shadow, a blight, upon all 
other men, and until the figure passes this 
blight will remain. Of course in time it 
will pass, it must pass, and the country will 
arouse itself from its day-dreaming and set 
itself seriously to the job of selecting a can- 



didate. But it will not be the same public 
it was before Roosevelt came to them as 
their Chief Magistrate. Their ideals will 
be different and their demands more exact- 
ing. They will, in a sort of rage at failing 
to get Roosevelt again, "take it out" of his 
successor in various ways. He will have to 
walk more circumspectly than any other 
President has done, and his conduct and 
policies will be scrutinized as no other man's 
in that office. Of course he will stand the 
test. There were great men before Aga- 
memnon and there will be others after him. 
We have never had a President who dis- 
graced his country or who was found to be 
dishonest or disloyal in office. But there 
will be a difference in the type after this. 
To be sure, there will be no more " Teddys; " 
it will be impossible again to secure the pic- 
turesqueness of the present President, but 
the man who succeeds him will — must — 
walk very largely in his steps. The broad 
humanitarianism, the unflinching honesty 
and aggressive purification, and tremendous 
zeal for good works and good men, — these 
are the supreme qualities which the people 
see in Roosevelt and for which they rally 
around him. They may be wrong. Some 
good people in high place think so. But 
your and my neighbor, however much they 
may differ on religion and ancestry, think 
" Roosevelt is all right," and are going to 
insist that the man they vote for has Roose- 
veltian ideals. 

Now here is where many persons go 
wrong. They think the people will demand 
that the next President keep up attacks 
upon corporations and trusts. Not neces- 
sarily. Tempora mutantur. The problems 
of to-day are not those of to-morrow. There 
are conceivably for the future greater evils 
in this country than watered stock and cap- 
italistic greed. But whatever the problem, 
the President who has to face it must do 
so in the Rooseveltian way, by a method 
whose characteristic will be something very 
like pugnacious righteousness, or what 
passes for that. The square deal and the 
other beacons of this past five or six years 
must continue to illumine the paths of the 
nation for a long time. And by them the 
nation will be guided well. In spite of all 
the eccentricities and blunders of Theodore 
Roosevelt, he has appreciably elevated the 
standards of American life and has been 
the greatest moral force of our day. He fits 



EDITORIALS 



i°5 



the time and the hour exactly. He might 
have made a botch of the war with Spain or 
the Venezuelan crisis, but unless he lets us 
drift into the folly of a menace toward Japan 
he will be remembered as the great Presi- 
dent who faced down the law-breakers in 
high places and removed from our way one 
of the greatest perils of Democracy. 

And having done that, it is well, and it is 
enough. The President has fulfilled his 
mission, and what he has done will never be 
undone. Now is the time to pass to another 
era and other men. Perhaps we shall need 
him again, and he will certainly be ready 
and at call. 

So with a sigh the people will this winter 
be casting about for a new leader. It may 
be that the man will be other than a Repub- 
lican, and the unparalleled record of suc- 
cesses of that party — choosing three Presi- 
dents and seven Houses of Representatives 
in succession — will come to an end. At 
this time it seems most probable that no 
other man but Mr. Bryan can be chosen by 
the Democratic party, and it is certain that 
this nomination will be resented by thou- 
sands of men who used to count themselves 
Democrats. Without these men's votes he 
cannot be elected. And to get them the 
Republicans will do much. That party, 
under the Roosevelt idealism, will insist 
upon a man like him. But where is he? 
That is the vexing problem and riddle of the 
coming months. No old-time Conservative 
will satisfy the vast bulk of that party. They 
have little liking for Mr. Bryan, but they 
will prefer him and even vote for him before 
they will support a nominee of their party 
who represents a reaction against Roose- 
veltism. 

But thus far the voters have not yet gone. 
They will not yet seriously consider the 
question. Never before was there such a 
condition of affairs. A superficial observer 
would call it indifference or neglect, and 
wonder at it. He would be wrong. It really 
is a sort of confidence in the country; it is as 
if the country said to itself, " Well, we 've got 
our kind of man now; we'd like to have him 
again; but if he won't take it, really won't 
take it, we are pretty sure when the time 
comes that we can pick out our kind of man 
again — when the time comes." 



John Harvard 

WITH this September comes the two 
hundred and sixty-ninth anniversary 
of the death of one John Harvard, a clergy- 
man who had been settled in Charlestown 
but a year and a month, and who, despite 
the fact that we believe him to have been a 
learned preacher and a Christian gentle- 
man, would have had small claim to fame 
had it not been for his last will and testa- 
ment. In this, he, dying without children, 
left the half of his estate, amounting to 
nearly eight hundred pounds, to the sons 
of other men, in that he with it endowed the 
school at Cambridge for which the colony 
had just appropriated eight hundred pounds, 
and which thus came to be named "Har- 
vard College." 

How great a power for good this wise 
benevolence of the Charlestown preacher 
has been may well be answered by the thou- 
sands of Harvard graduates scattered over 
the world, carrying with them the atmos- 
phere of culture and the power which comes 
from such wisdom as their individual capa- 
bilities fitted them to absorb. 

Two and a half centuries is a brief time as 
history goes, yet in that brief time the growth 
of John Harvard's college has been tre- 
mendous and steady. It became famous as 
a seat of learning almost from the first, yet, 
singularly enough, during more than two 
hundred of these fruitful years little was 
done, if anything was attempted, toward 
clearing up the mystery of the birth and 
early life of this first benefactor. Not so 
long ago one writer referred to him as " the 
Melchisedec of New England," probably 
because, like the scriptural character, he 
seemed to be " without father, without 
mother, without descent," and having "no 
beginning of days." Another speaks of him 
as "almost a semi-mythical figure." To- 
day without doubt we know as much of his 
ancestry and early life as we do of any of 
the men of his generation who came from 
England to assist in the building-up of the 
colony which was later to outgrow the 
swaddling-clothes of the mother country 
and become a sovereign State. 

As late as the year 1883 this ignorance 
concerning the man's life and antecedents 
continued. At that date, speaking of a pro- 
posed statue to John Harvard at Cambridge, 
the Rev. George E. Ellis said: 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



"The occasion renews the sense of re- 
gret, so often realized and expressed in 
scholarly circles, that a secret and silence 
as yet unpenetrated or voiced cover the 
whole life -history, in the mother country, 
of him who planted learning in the New 
England wilderness. We know neither his 
birth-time nor birthplace nor lineage nor 
parentage. With the facts about his con- 
nection with Emanuel College, Cambridge, 
all that we know of John Harvard in Eng- 
land stops. " 

He referred to Mr. Harvard as " some- 
times minister of God's Word, assisting Mr. 
Symmes, the pastor of Charlestown Church," 
as having "received grants of land from the 
town," and as on a committee, April 26, 
1638, "to consider of something tending 
towards a body of laws." "The site of his 
house," he said, "is known. Judge Sewall 
speaks of sleeping in it. It was probably 
burned in the battle, June 17, 1775. Har- 
vard died of consumption, in Charlestown, 
September 12 o. s., September 22 n. s., 
1638." 

In the year 1883 Henry F. Waters, of the 
Harvard graduating class of 1855, went to 
England to search the records there in the 
hope of finding further trace of John Har- 
vard. Funds for this purpose were supplied 
by subscription from friends of genealogical 
research, led by the late John C. Hassam 
(Harvard College, 1863), and the search 
was long, vigorous, and eminently success- 
ful. As a result of it we know the date of 
birth and the parentage of John Harvard 
and much concerning his lineage, all of 
which is very gratifying now that we are 



soon to celebrate the three-hundredth anni- 
versary of his birth. 

Looking upon things from the Puritan 
standpoint of complete belief in the guiding 
hand of God in the affairs of men, one can 
but say that Harvard was a special instru- 
ment for the planting of an institution of 
learning in the colonies. A man of scholarly 
training himself, though the son of a South- 
wark butcher, he died childless after but a 
brief year of life in the colony, and was 
moved to bequeath the half of his fortune 
and all of his library to the "school " that 
so sorely needed just these things. The in- 
ference is obvious. 

Since that time many special instruments 
have bequeathed sums large and small to 
the college, and it has grown beyond all 
possible belief or wildest dreams of John 
Harvard's day. Yet it is safe to say that 
no gifts were more opportune or more in- 
spired than his. 

Nevertheless, with all honor to the col- 
lege's first private donor, we must not for- 
get the General Court of the colony which, 
only six years after settlement, gave the 
first sum of all, eight hundred pounds, for 
the establishment of the school. It was the 
people of the colony, through their repre- 
sentatives, that first saw the need and gave 
out of their poverty to begin the supplying 
of it. 

In November of this year comes the three- 
hundredth anniversary of John Harvard's 
birth, and it is fitting that the date should 
be recognized as one of special importance. 
International expositions have been founded 
on events of less significance to the country. 



SEPTEMBER 



By ALICE F. TILDEN 



The blue, blue sea has a note of grey; 
On the sumach near the red leaves sway,- 

First hint of frost that is coming soon; 
Yet still, as with lightest of steps we pass, 
We startle the crickets out of the grass 

In the great, warm, drowsy afternoon. 



1 




THE VOICE OF THE 
DOLLAR 

By DAVID C. GALE 

There's no excuse for poverty 

In this progressive age 
If only you will profit by 

The advertising-page. 
Just con the many chances o'er, — 

Their number quite bewitches, — 
Then choose the way you wish to go, 

The way that leads to riches. 

One man agrees to give you law, 

Enough of it "by mail" 
To bring the juries to your feet 

And make the judges quail. 
Another holds a torch on high 

While you become a writer. 
Oh, that 's an easy road to Fame — 

No prospect could be brighter. 

"Make money writing songs," or else 

"Make money on the stage;" 
And if you fail to please yourself 

Just turn another page. 
They only need an hour a day 

To teach you engineering. 
"Why don't you raise your pay?" they ask, 

In manner domineering. 

"Your fortune made in real estate;" 

"Keep pigeons in your barn;" 
"Be rich and independent too — 

Make money on the farm." 
Don't toil along the rocky road — 

Be done with retrogression. 
Lay out a course to suit your taste, 

And join the great procession. 



BREAD AN' APPLE - SASS 



By EDITH MINITER 

Pumpkin pies an' cider, 

Mighty nice to eat; 
Beans an' injun puddin', 

Say, they can't be beat! 
Smell that fish a-fryin', 

Eels, an' trout, an' bass, — 
Goin' to Smith's to get some 

Bread an' apple-sass! 

Flapjacks on the griddle 

Brownin' up so fine, 
When it comes to "after," 

Apple-grunt for mine; 
Souse is in the spider — 

Got to let it pass, — 
Asked to Smith's for supper, 

Bread an' apple-sass! 

Salyratus biscuit, 

Damson plum preserves, 
Seems 's if the shape o' one 

Suits the other's curves. 
King Nebuchudnazzer, 

Once he lived on grass, — 
An' my menoo 's lately 

Bread an' apple-sass. 

Smith's a poor provider, 

Ain't no secret, that! 
Leavin's from his table 

Would n't keep a cat. 
Pop'lar, though, as can be, 

'Cause a pretty lass, 
Name 6' Susy, bakes the bread, 

Serves the apple-sass. 

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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



DID AND DID NT 

By HELEN COMBES 



Katy did, Katy did. 

What a silly creature 
I, to think she might not do 
Just what instinct told her to 

When I tried to reach her! 
Katy was my more than match, 

At defiance set me; 
When I tried a kiss to snatch 

Katy did n't let me. 

Katy did, Katy did 

Scold for full an hour. 
How I longed her mouth to close, 
Underneath her very nose, 

If I had the power! 
Katy called me many a name, 

Would not come anear me; 
When I ventured, "Fie, for shame!" 

Katy did n't hear me. 



Katy did, Katy did 

Try her best to tease me. 
When I begged her kind to be, 
Katy did n't look at me, 

Would not smile to please me. 
Katy did, I swear it 's so, 

Win my heart to break it; 
When 't was hers for weal or woe 

Katy did n't take it. 

Katy did, Katy did, 

When I stormed and shouted, 
Show an eye with reddened lid, 

Lips that surely pouted. 
When I vowed my bonds to cut, 

To far climes to get me, 
Katy said, "Thank goodness !" but 

Katy did n't let me. 



JIMMIE'S PLAN 

By GRACE STONE FIELD 

When I grow up I'm going to keep 

A home for little boys, 
Where they can frolic all day long 

And no one mind the noise. 
The stairs shall have long banisters 

Where all of them can slide, 
And nothing that they want to do 

Shall ever be denied. 
I'll have the pantry shelves just crammed 

With things they like to eat — 
With licorice and gingerbread 

And cookies, crisp and sweet; 
And mother, when she wishes to, 

May come and spend the day; 
But nursery-maids like Jane, I think, 

Will have to stay away. 
I've heard of homes for orphans 

And the deaf and dumb and blind, 
And homes for nice old ladies 

Are plenty, you will find; 
But all of these are places where 

You must n't make a noise — 
So when I grow to be a man 

/'// build a home for boys. 



JOHN GROVES REVENGE 



By FRAZER L. MONTAGUE 




I. 

S John Groves sat bending over 
his desk, intent on adding up a 
long column of figures, there 
was nothing about his face or 
bearing that was especially 
striking. He was, apparently, merely one 
of the numerous clerks of Scott and Hard- 
ing, bankers, came seventh on the pay-roll, 
and occupied the fourth desk on the right- 
hand side. The most important trait that 
had been observed about him was his un- 
deviating regularity. Never since he had 
been in the office, now nearly two years, had 
he been absent on a business day. Indeed, 
the senior partner, though he had scarcely 
ever spoken more than two words to young 
Groves, would have felt a slight shock if 
on entering the office he had perceived that 
John's desk was vacant, and would have 
been prepared to have something unusual 
happen. Even the days after holidays, those 
trials to senior partners, who are accustomed 
to thank Heaven that the glorious days in 
our history are comparatively few, even on 
those days John was to be seen at his desk 
at the usual hour in the morning, and, what 
is more, without the appearance of having 
lost any of his sleep. If one could have been 
allowed, however, to look deep down into 
the mind of the quiet, well-mannered clerk, 
deeper than any of his friends had ever 
looked, deeper, indeed, than he was in the 
habit of looking himself, one would have 
found there feelings developing which were 
hardly consistent with his quiet exterior. 

Some time previous to his going into the 
office, when he was but a very young man, 
he had been over-reached in a business 
transaction. Certain circumstances attend- 
ed the affair which, at the time, had been 
very bitter. It was but one more encounter 
of youth and inexperience with age and 
craftiness, and the latter, as is usual in such 
cases, had come off victorious. 

It was not, however, the affair itself which 
he now remembered. This, with the lapse 



of time, had grown indistinct. But the 
man who had got the better of him, he 
found, rather to his surprise, occupying 
more and more of his thoughts. It was the 
image of this man that he saw whenever he 
had an unusual fit of introspection, and ever 
with greater distinctness. To-day, so clearly 
did John see this image that he almost fan- 
cied the man himself stood before him. 
Yes; there he was, with his long gray beard 
carefully arranged so as to hide the low 
cunning in the lines of the chin and jaw; 
with that false, gray beard which gave a 
venerable appearance to a man who had 
grown old in scraping together a fortune 
made out of petty dishonesties. As for the 
old man, Ralph Stirling, he had long since 
forgotten the whole affair, and Groves into 
the bargain. There had been nothing about 
it to make it distinctive for him. He had at 
the time congratulated himself on one more 
victim. This was, however, not a sufficient 
distinction to give John a claim upon his 
memory. 

If Stirling had considered the effect that 
his action would have on Groves — how 
much mortification and chagrin it might 
cause him; above all, that more than two 
years after the event he would be, as we 
have seen he was, an unpleasantly promi- 
nent object in John's thoughts — he might 
have acted differently. But Stirling was far 
too old a wolf to make a psychological study 
of every lamb that he came across. 

To-day John was not content to let his 
thoughts of Stirling pass away without con- 
sidering the possibility of something more 
effective than thought against him. As he 
examined himself, he found that his feelings 
towards him were gradually emerging from 
a stage of inactive brooding and taking a 
more positive color. Meanwhile he had 
finished adding up the column of figures on 
which he had been engaged. Taking a new 
pen, he dipped it into the red ink and drew 
a line across the page, to indicate that the 
account balanced. The action brought to 
mind this other account which had yet to be 

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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



settled, and on which no payment had as 
yet been made. The red line, too, was not 
without its suggestion. 

But how could he settle it? He could 
never have obtained redress by law; that 
way was utterly out of the question. Clearly, 
nothing remained but for him to take his 
revenge on his own responsibility. What 
could he do ? At first he thought he would 
give the whole thing up. He would not 
think of the man again. He would forget him 
as completely as he himself was forgotten. 

When John had reached this point in his 
reflections he saw that it was time for lunch; 
hastily putting on his coat and hat, he left 
the office. He did not go at once to a res- 
taurant, as was his custom, but wandered 
abstractedly about the streets. A crisis 
seemed to be approaching him rapidly. He 
found the idea of giving up all future 
thought of Stirling much more difficult to 
carry out than, a few moments before, he had 
imagined it would be. He now knew that 
his idea of revenge was not the momentary 
growth of an instant, but that he had been 
carrying it about with him, in a dormant 
state, for two years. 

The flame that now burned within him 
was, indeed, new fire, but the smoke had 
been there a long time. Still, would it not be 
better to put out this fire once for all, rather 
than fan it by further meditation until it got 
beyond his control? Absorbed in these re- 
flections, he had entered a small side street. 
On the narrow sidewalk he suddenly ran 
sharply into a man who stood counting a 
handful of silver, and as John struck him 
this was scattered in all directions. 

"I ask your pardon," said John. "Allow 
me to pick up for you the change which was 
dropped by my fault." As he was uttering 
the last words he looked into the man's face, 
and recognized Ralph Stirling. Quickly 
stooping to hide his confusion, he rapidly 
began to collect the various pieces of silver. 
"What evil genius," thought he, "could 
have sent Ralph Stirling across my path at 
the very moment I was endeavoring to root 
him out of my mind forever?" The meet- 
ing seemed to him more than a coincidence. 
He had not paused to reflect that in walk- 
ing about, with his thoughts full of Stirling, 
he had unconsciously come into the vicin- 
ity of Stirling's office, and that Stirling 
passed a dozen times a day through this 
very place. 



In the momentary glance that he had 
given the other, he had seen a countenance 
that did not fit in exactly with his precon- 
ceived idea of it. The old man before him 
had a peculiarly gentle face, which seemed 
almost patriarchal with its silky, white 
beard. Could this be the man who had in- 
jured him so deeply ? Had he not mistaken 
the character of this man, and in brooding 
over his wrong greatly exaggerated it, al- 
lowing certain facts which might go far to 
excuse him to sink into the background? 
Perhaps, too, the man might have yielded 
to a sudden temptation, his life in its gen- 
eral course having been honest enough. 
As other thoughts came crowding into John's 
brain he quickly took out of his waistcoat 
pocket a five-dollar gold-piece, and slipped 
it, with the money he had picked up, into 
Stirling's hand, remarking: 

"This is all the money I see about; per- 
haps you can tell me if it is the right 
amount." 

Stirling's eyes glistened when he saw the 
gold-piece. Being a ready reckoner, he had 
added up the different coins while John had 
been speaking, and when he had finished, 
said: 

"There ought to be just seven dollars 
and twenty-five cents; let us see if this makes 
it." 

He counted up the pieces singly before 
John, and the amount came to what he had 
indicated. 

" You see I ^eep my money pretty well in 
hand, after all," he said, facetiously, and 
added, with a slight chuckle as he walked 
away, "You 're welcome to what you can 
find." 

It was with a grim feeling of satisfaction 
that John looked after the retreating figure 
of Stirling. No, he had not been deceived 
then. His lamblike looks must have been 
caused by a more than ordinarily successful 
day, to which this last transaction was 
doubtless a pleasantly suited accompani- 
ment. A slight smile played over John's 
face as long as Stirling remained in sight. 
He did not regret the loss of his five dollars. 
He looked upon it as the first step taken in 
getting even with Stirling. What the last 
step might be he had but a faint idea as 
yet. 

"After all," he muttered, as he walked 
with a brisk tread to his lunch, "it is the 
first step that costs." 



JOHN GROVES' REVENGE 



in 



John found, after this little occurrence, 
that he did not have to look so deeply into 
his own mind in order to bring up Stirling 
to his recollection as he had had to do pre- 
viously. In fact, as the days went by, it 
took rather an effort to keep his thoughts 
from wandering in this direction. He did 
not, however, make this effort very often, 
for with all his repugnance to the man he 
found a certain satisfaction in thinking of 
him. And his thoughts by degrees came 
back to the old problem: what could he do 
to him? If something would only happen 
to Stirling, to remove the chance of any fur- 
ther encounter with him, it would be a great 
relief. He eagerly scanned the daily papers, 
hoping to find Stirling's name among the 
accounts of various assaults and accidents 
which are constantly chronicled in the 
newspapers. 

But although he read of crimes innumer- 
able, so that it appeared to him that one half 
the world was murdering the other half, 
Stirling's name never appeared. He wished 
he had lived in those glorious old Venetian 
days when the flash of a stiletto at midnight, 
followed by a heavy fall into the canal be- 
low, indicated that there was one less injury 
in the world to be wiped out. What if he 
should reintroduce a little of the old Italian 
life, with its fire and passion, to give a tinge 
of color to the monotony of his office du- 
ties, which had lately grown unaccountably 
dull to him? Suppose some morning Stir- 
ling could not be found, and no one but 
himself knew the secret of his disappear- 
ance? After all, it would be but a man 
gone — a man, too, whose loss would be a 
public benefit, and oh, what a private satis- 
faction! At this idea John bent a little 
closer over his ledger. But it did not sur- 
prise him. He had only put in definite form 
the vague fancies that had been flitting 
through his brain ever since his last meet- 
ing with Stirling. Upon his resolve to carry 
out this idea, the room seemed to grow 
larger, and a certain cramped feeling of 
which he lately had been conscious disap- 
peared. As he looked at the faces of his 
fellow clerks, all absorbed in their common- 
place work, a slightly contemptuous smile 
was visible on his countenance. 

"Poor devils," he said to himself, "what 
have they to look forward to?" 

For himself, he felt that he had a purpose 
to accomplish, a real task to perform. 



II. 

It must not be imagined that John was 
one whit the less punctual at his office, or 
that the resolution he had formed led him 
in any way to slight his daily duties. If 
there had been any one to observe him 
closely, he might have caught a momentary 
smile now and then on his face, but the 
closest inspection would have detected noth- 
ing of the purpose that lay behind it. John 
had by no means given up the undertaking 
of this purpose. He was, however, in no 
hurry to accomplish it. The very fact that 
he had resolved to put it into execution was 
enough for him at first. It had rather piqued 
him, formerly, to know that Ralph Stirling 
had so completely forgotten him. Now it 
brought a pleasurable feeling to think that 
no man had any idea of his hatred of his 
future victim, who would himself have been 
as surprised as any one at the revelation. 
Indeed, he often pictured in his mind the 
astonishment that would come over Stir- 
ling's face when he found himself in his, 
John's, power, and how the remembrance 
of their former connection would, at the last 
moment perhaps, be revealed to him. It is 
possible that in this picture the drawing 
was not quite right, and that the coloring 
was a little forced; if so, John failed to no- 
tice it. 

As time went on John did more than 
merely think of his purpose. By degrees 
he found out the prominent facts in the 
daily life of Stirling: the time he got up, 
when he dined, his hour of going to bed, 
where at any time he was most likely to be 
found. Did it ever occur to John that his 
heart might fail him at the last moment? 
Apparently not, if one might judge by the 
satisfaction he got from shooting at an ace 
of clubs at ten paces, and from the delight 
he felt as he became more and more skilful 
in the feat. 

Finally, early in June, about six months 
after he had decided on his plan of action, a 
favorable opportunity for carrying it out 
seemed likely to occur. He learned that 
Stirling would be out late on two evenings 
of the following week, and would be obliged 
to walk to his house, some distance out of 
the city. Midway between the city and his 
home there was a long bridge over which it 
would be necessary for him to pass. This 
bridge John decided^on^ as his place of at- 



112 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



tack. He learned, moreover, that on each 
occasion Stirling would have a considerable 
sum of money with him. To relieve him of 
this at the same time would throw suspicion 
off the track, suggesting as it would that 
the object of the assault was simply robbery. 
John, indeed, did not think that there was 
any chance of discovery, the motives which 
operated with him being so closely hidden 
away in his own breast. Still, in such a case, 
he thought he could not be too careful. The 
bridge, too, had rather a bad name, being 
long and ill-lighted — another fact which 
would render the robbery theory plausible. 

John determined to follow Stirling on the 
first night in question, in order to get more 
perfectly the lay of the land, so that there 
might be no hitch on the final evening. The 
drama he was meditating was certainly wor- 
thy of a dress-rehearsal, he thought. Ac- 
cordingly, on the appointed evening he fol- 
lowed Stirling. The two reached the bridge 
without incident, John keeping himself 
about a minute behind. When Stirling was 
near the middle of the bridge John paused. 
This, he saw, was the proper place for him 
to quicken the pace, as by doing so he would 
overtake Stirling at the beginning of the 
deep water, and at a good distance from 
either shore. 

Everything was quiet; why not do it now? 
thought John. Involuntarily he put his 
hand into his pocket for his pistol. It was 
not there. He had come out with no idea of 
using it that evening, and had left it at 
home. He felt slightly relieved at not find- 
ing it. "After all," he reflected, "I shall do 
better to stick to my original plan, and carry 
out the business in a quiet and orderly man- 
ner. It would be a pity, after waiting so 
long, to make a botch of it by being over- 
hasty at the last moment." 

He stopped and looked about for some 
means of marking the place. On the top of 
the railing he observed a large, rusty spike, 
which had been left, by the carelessness of 
some workmen, only half driven in. 

"This spike shall be my cue for entering 
on the scene of action," he said. 

There was nothing more to be done that 
night. He walked rapidly back to the city 
and went to bed. In the morning he might 
have been found at his desk at his usual 
hour. 

It was Wednesday. Only one day inter- 



vened between the present condition of 
things and the execution of his purpose. 
On Thursday night Stirling was to take his 
final walk over the bridge. As the time 
drew near, John found himself looking for- 
ward to the event with not quite so much 
eagerness as he had anticipated. He began 
to have misgivings lest, with the completion 
of his revenge, he should find a certain blank 
in his life, which would be unbearably dull 
in comparison with the pleasurable excite- 
ment that he had enjoyed during the last 
six months. He would fain have lengthened 
this period out a little longer. It did not 
seem probable, however, that such a good 
opportunity would occur again, and, more- 
over, he had made up his mind. 

As John was putting on his coat Thurs- 
day evening, preparatory to leaving the 
office, the head clerk said to him: 

"Oh, by the way, Groves, there is such 
a rush of work just now that I think we may 
need a little night work. Could you give 
it to us if we should?" 

"Certainly," said John, with a slight 
start; and he added, rather spasmodically, 
"I'll come back to-night if you want me." 

"Oh, no," replied the head clerk; "we 
sha'n't want it for two or three weeks yet; 
I just thought I would mention it. Good- 
night." 

"Good night, sir," replied John, as he 
left the office. He had determined to act, 
above all things, naturally, and thus to 
avoid suspicion. He was resolved not to 
draw attention to himself by any strange 
conduct. This seemed a simple enough 
thing to do. He did not reflect that under 
the influence of excitement a man, in doing 
what he considers natural, often exposes 
himself to comment. A drunken man makes 
his wildest demonstrations under the im- 
pression that he is acting naturally. The 
universe has for him put on a new appear- 
ance, and he but accommodates himself to 
the changed conditions. 

John, after leaving the office, went to a 
restaurant. 

"Bring me a steak with mushrooms," he 
said to the waiter. 

"Very sorry, sah, that's not served to- 
day," said the darkey, pointing to a passage 
at the bottom of the bill of fare which read: 
"Dishes checked not served this day." 

"Well," said John, frowning slightly, 
"bring me an omelette and coffee." 



JOHN GROVES' REVENGE 



"3 



"Yes, sah, d'reckly, sah," replied the 
waiter, a little surprised at the change in 
the order. After he had disappeared John 
felt at a loss what to do. He tried to think 
what he usually did at such times, and came 
to the conclusion that he did nothing. This 
seemed to him precisely the thing he could 
not do now. As his eyes wandered aimlessly 
about the room, he observed a clock. The 
hands indicated one. It seemed an age since 
the waiter had left him. He resolved to 
time him now. After shifting uneasily in his 
seat and exhausting every means in his 
power to occupy himself, he determined to 
look at the clock again. There had been no 
movement, the hands still indicating one. 
He gave a slight start. It seemed at least ten 
minutes since he had last looked at it. 
What could it mean? Had in reality the 
time been so short as not to be observable 
at this distance ? Or, as plausible a theory, 
had time actually ceased to exist ? It merely 
meant that the clock had stopped, nothing 
more, as he presently discovered when, on 
taking out his watch, he found it was only 
a little past six. Ah, John! John! You 
have many eventful hours to pass through 
before one o'clock, and you will be consid- 
erably older when that time comes! 

It was half past six when John left the 
restaurant. More than five hours must 
elapse before he could meet Stirling. He 
had arranged the details of his plan so care- 
fully, as he thought, that he was a little an- 
noyed to find that he had made no provi- 
sion for passing this time. He must think of 
something. He could not wander about the 
city for that length of time. The theatre 
occurred to him. He thought he would not 
object to seeing a good tragedy. All the reg- 
ular theatres, however, were closed, and at 
the summer ones only the lightest kind of 
travesty and burlesque was in order. The 
very idea of anything of the sort jarred 
heavily on his present mood. It was out of 
the question. Suddenly a new idea oc- 
curred to him. He would ride into the coun- 
try for a couple of hours, and then take a 
return train to the city. On consulting a 
time-table, he found that he could take a 
seven o'clock train out and get back to the 
city by another train at eleven forty-five. 
This would suit him exactly. He took his 
seat in the car and soon had left the town 
far behind him. The route lay along the 
shore, and the cool sea-air rapidly restored 



him to his normal condition. After riding 
about an hour and a half, the brakeman 
put his head in at the car door and called 
out the name of a station at which the train 
was about to stop. The name John heard 
was that of his native place. He remem- 
bered now that the town was on this road, 
although when he got on the train he had 
not thought of it. He was getting a little 
tired of riding, and thought that he should 
like to look about the old place for a while. 
Upon learning that the return train stopped 
here, he left the car. 

It was a quiet old town. The inhabitants 
seemed to be chiefly children and old men. 
The latter had spent their first childhood 
here, and had returned for the second. 

John wandered up and down through 
the once familiar streets. The young moon, 
low in the west, lit the scene vaguely, quite 
in keeping with his hazy recollection. At 
last he reached the park which lay in the 
centre of the town. In the middle of the 
park there was a large pond. John sat 
down by the edge of it. 

Each spot about him was suggestive of 
some youthful adventure. Just up the slope 
under a large oak had been the scene of a 
childish escapade. He with two or three 
companions had thought it would be a fine 
thing to camp out all night under the oak. 
Accordingly, they met together at twelve 
o'clock, and proceeded, in boy fashion, to 
enjoy themselves. All went well until about 
two, when a tremendous thunder-storm wet 
them through and through, besides badly 
frightening them. 

John had had ample time to think over 
this frolic, as he lay in his sick-bed during 
the next ten days. 

The pond itself brought vividly before 
him another childish reminiscence. There 
was a legend that near the middle of this 
pond there was a bottomless pit. At least, 
no plumb-line had ever succeeded in fath- 
oming its depths. How well he remembered 
paddling out on a raft, having secretly 
equipped himself with his mother's clothes- 
line, determined to make investigations on 
his own account. The raft had separated 
under him, and John would doubtless have 
found the bottom, if bottom there was, had 
not a strong arm upheld him at the critical 
moment. Perhaps it was the fear of a sim- 
ilar experience that had been effective in 
making him a bold swimmer. As he looked 



H4 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



at the placid water beside him, he felt a 
strong inclination to see if, without the aid 
of a raft, he could not sound the mysterious 
depth. Suddenly he remembered that he 
had far different matters than indulging in 
an evening swim to attend to that night, 
however attractive it might be. 

On looking at his watch he found it was 
time for him to go. He walked thoughtfully 
back to the station. Presently the train 
came thundering in, and he got into the 
smoking-car and consumed innumerable 
cigarettes on his way back to the city. 

Punctually at a quarter before twelve 
John stepped out of the train. He felt per- 
fectly calm now. The ride from the heated 
city along the coast had cooled him in every 
way. The clock struck twelve as he con- 
cealed himself in a doorway in front of 
which Stirling was to pass. In a few min- 
utes he caught sight of the well-known fig- 
ure going by on the opposite side of the 
street. He came out of the doorway and 
followed it. The old man walked with an 
easy and confident air. He had no misgiv- 
ings. He thought of the money in his pock- 
et and of the questionable way in which it 
had been obtained, and he felt as an honest 
man feels in thinking of his righteous earn- 
ings. 

Their road lay through the business sec- 
tion at the edge of the city; through streets 
that all day long resounded with traffic. 
They were silent now, and deserted save by 
the two figures pursuing their way so stead- 
ily. 

At last the two reached the bridge. The 
calm water purred softly against the piles. 
John walked along with his hand on the 
railing, so as to find the rusty spike with 
greater readiness. It seemed to him that he 
had come to the place where it ought to be; 
still, his hand failed to find it. He looked 
about. Suddenly he felt in the railing a de- 
pression in the wood filled with water, and 
his eye caught sight of a blackened board, 
which had been, he remembered, just un- 
der the spike. He had found the socket 
which the spike, now taken away, had left. 
While John was engaged in looking for the 
spike he took his eyes off Stirling. When 
he looked for him again, he saw three or 
four figures surrounding the man, while a 
bridge lamp cast a fitful light upon the scene. 
He saw two figures seize Stirling, while a 
third rapidly searched him. "All right; 



over with him," they cried. The next in- 
stant a groan and a heavy splash became 
audible, while the retreating footsteps of the 
robbers died quickly away in the opposite 
direction. 

John had stood motionless while all this 
was taking place. The heavy splash, how- 
ever, aroused him. He rushed forward with 
all his speed. Was his victim to escape 
him at the last moment? No. There was 
yet time for him. 

As he ran the thought came over him: 
"What, after all, am I pursuing? An old 
man who has been left to perish by scoun- 
drels." In an instant the baseless fabric of 
his hate crumbled to pieces. He vaguely 
realized the vast difference between his own 
weak, dilatory method of carrying out his 
crime and the quick, effective manner of the 
professional workman. Disgust at the pit- 
iable farce he had been playing for the last 
six months surged over him. A terrible 
sense of his own insignificance overwhelmed 
him. What had he, a young clerk, to do 
with such things? When he reached the 
spot where Stirling had been thrown over, 
he gazed eagerly into the river. He could 
dimly make out the struggling object down 
there in the water. That the wretched crea- 
ture, whose weakening cries for help now 
fell upon his ears, should have been able 
to excite such active passion in him was in- 
conceivable. His hatred and desire for re- 
venge were gone, he knew not whither, and 
only a sort of pitiful contempt for Stirling 
remained. 

"Bah! I'll still have my evening swim, 
after all," he muttered, as he looked at the 
inviting river at his feet. Throwing off his 
coat and shoes, he jumped into the water. 
He sank far down into its cool depths, and 
rose with every faculty sharpened. He felt 
as he did when, a boy, he had just learned 
to swim, and found a new world opened to 
him. He was able to save a dozen men. 
The keen physical delight caused by his 
sudden plunge into the water, which only 
the strong swimmer can appreciate, con- 
trasted strangely with his mental state, in 
which humiliation, pity, and gratitude 
formed a disordered medley. 

With vigorous strokes he swam toward 
Stirling. 

"Hold out a little longer, help is coming," 
he shouted. A. moment more, and he had 
reached him. "Make no movement," he j 



JOHN GROVES' REVENGE 



"5 



said, in a warning voice. The caution was 
unnecessary; without a struggle Stirling 
gave himself up to the strong arm that sup- 
ported him. John began to swim quickly 
in the direction of the shore. 

"Hello, there," suddenly exclaimed a 
voice from the darkness. 

"Hello," John responded, involuntarily. 

The next moment he heard the sound of 
oars and a black object became dimly vis- 
ible. Some sailors on a schooner anchored 
hard by had been awakened by the noise, 
and, hastily manning a boat, had set off to 
the rescue. 

The instant after John had replied to the 
ail, he regretted it. The fact that he would 
e identified, and his name bruited abroad 
n the newspapers, flashed across his mind, 
he idea was hateful to him. He had had 
nough of stage effect to last him a long 
time. 

While he had been alone with Stirling he 
lad felt a certain repose, but the introduc- 
:ion of the outside world, of those shadowy 
igures so rapidly approaching, filled him 
vith unquietness. He felt something of his 
)ld loathing for Stirling coming over him. 
lad not the old man for weeks past turned 
Lis life into a hideous nightmare ? A general 
ense of failure, a strong desire to be rid of 
Stirling and everything connected with him, 
n intense longing to be alone, took posses- 
ion of him. As the boat came alongside 
ohn formed his resolution. With a quick 
lovement he loosed his hold on Stirling 
nd dived far under the water. 

After the sailors had pulled Stirling into 
fie boat they looked in vain for John. For 
lull half an hour, calling repeatedly, they 
:ept up the fruitless search. At length, 



perceiving there was no hope of rescuing 
him, they pulled back to their schooner. 
Here, after applying restoratives to Stirling, 
they learned the story of his adventure. 

But what had become of John ? 

Two days after this eventful night a young 
clerk in the office of Scott and Harding, 
bankers, was reading the following account 
of the occurrence from a daily paper: 

Latest Developments in the Stirling 
Assault Case 

The body of the man who nobly sacrificed his 
life in saving that of Mr. Stirling, the man who was 
so cowardly assaulted early Friday morning, has 
not yet been recovered. Up to a late hour yesterday 
divers were at work at and about the spot indicated 
by the sailors whose timely advent was the means 
of saving Stirling. They were unsuccessful, how- 
ever, in finding any traces of it, and it seems prob- 
able that the body has by this time floated a long 
distance off. Its ultimate recovery may be deemed 
doubtful. Some unclaimed garments have given 
rise at police headquarters to the suspicion that 
there is some mystery connected with the affair. 
For ourselves, not professing to have the penetra- 
tion and subtlety of those connected with that mys- 
terious precinct, we can see nothing strange in the 
matter. It is to us only too simple. Stirling was 
assaulted by a lot of ruffians who had evidently 
found out that he had a large sum of money with 
him on the night in question. Hearing a noise and 
seeing some one approach, they threw him over- 
board, as being the simplest way to dispose of him. 
The unknown man then plunged boldly into 
the river, and succeeded in keeping Stirling afloat 
until, just as assistance came, his strength failed 
him, and he sank to rise no more. There are men 
reported missing. Should the body of this un- 
known hero ever be found and identified, it will 
doubtless prove to be one of these. 

With an impatient gesture the clerk laid 
the paper down and, turning to the ledger 
at his side, began to take a trial balance for 
the week. 




THE MISTAKE 



By ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL 




'M six," the Mite said. 

"I'm sixty," admitted, un- 
willingly, Miss Flavia; then 
hastily amended: "No, not 
quite," for to-morrow had not 
yet come. Until to-morrow she was not 
quite. 

The Mite readjusted her fat, bare knees 
and her ideas of limits. She had hitherto 
in her dim little way supposed sixty was a 
limit. But Miss Flavia did not look like one 
approaching death. The Mite regarded 
her curiously. 

" Does it hurt ?" she suddenly demanded. 
It did not look as though it hurt. But pain 
leaped into the soft languor of Miss Flavia's 
eyes. 

"Yes — oh, yes, it hurts." 

"Six don't," outlaughed joyously the 
Mite. She stretched fat legs, fat arms, fat 
little trunk, in triumph of being five. The 
ecstasy of what was now and what was 
coming set her good red blood a-drumming 
in her little veins. For lack of other way 
to express it she emitted in a startling cre- 
scendo a clear, protracted shriek. Without 
apparent design she leaped and ran wan- 
tonly. 

A rather eventless, dreary life lay be- 
hind Miss Flavia — and ahead. But there 
had been points of ecstasy that pricked the 
somberness. Minutes of ecstasy — where 
other women remembered years Miss Fla- 
via remembered minutes. She kept a lit- 
tle memorandum of them and had occa- 
sional recourse to it when present things 
too heavily palled. The pain she suffered 
on those occasions was a whimsical, retro- 
spective one. It was rather a pleasant lit- 
tle pain in which she took gentle pride, and 
not for worlds would she have given it 
up. 

Rosemary Wylie came up the walk down 
which the Mite had danced. Rosemary 
was almost dancing; it was her usual gait, 
the exhaust-pipe of her jubilant spirits. 
Rosemary was scarcely past her eighteenth 
milestone. 

116 



"Miss Flavia, what do you think!" her 
gay voice heralded half down the path. 

"I think you have forgotten Mademoi- [ 
selle's instructions. What is the use of be- 
ing 'finished'?" 

"Is n't any. All the good it ever did was | 
to help Daddy Long Legs spend his money j 
— poor old Daddy Long Legs ! Poor old ; 
Mademoiselle, too ; but she 's in luck not to 
have to see me skipping like a young lamb, ! 
and if she could — " the young thing of 
radiance and youth dropped down beside 
Miss Flavia and fanned herself with her| 
hat — "if she could, she'd excuse it to-day, 
because Daddy Long Legs is coming home. 
That's what I came to tell you — you knewj 
him, did n't you, when you were a kid?" 

Shades of Mademoiselle! 

"When I was young," Miss Flavia cor-: 
rected, sternly. It was a help to say some- 1 
thing sternly; it eased the odd jolt in hers 
breath. All the items of the little memo- 
randum she kept in the secret drawer of" 
her memory had to do with Rick Wylie. | 
She had never thought of him as old orj 
young, only as Rick. Now, first, it occurred;' 
to her that he must be Richard Wylie. 

"Daddy Long Legs told me — wrote; 
me, I mean. It's queer, Miss Flavia — 
queer — that all the things my father even 
said to me he wrote! That I only know 
him ' sight unseen'! When I think I'm 
going to see him to-morrow or next day — , 
Miss Flavia, it scares me. You've got tcj 
hold up my hands! I came on purpose to 
ask you to introduce me to my father] 
'Rosemary, let me make you acquainted 
with your father. This is your daughter, 
Rosemary, Mr. Wylie.' Like that! Therj 
we'll shake hands and say what pleasan; 
weather it is if the sun is shining, or is nH 
if it rains. Think of meeting your fathei 
like that for the first time in thirteen years j 
Think of my being scared! Oh, it's al 
over — all the lovely times in letters, wher J 
you dare to say anything — Miss Flavia I 
I shall never call him 'Daddy Long Legs I 
again!" \ 



THE MISTAKE 



117 



"No?" Miss Flavia's tone was dreamily 
vague. She was thinking her own thoughts 
of the man who was coming home from far 
countries after so many years. Miss Flavia 
was conscious of being a little scared her- 
self. As Rosemary, through the medium of 
a lively correspondence, so she, through that 

I of her own gently romantic memories, had 
maintained a certain intimacy with Richard 

j Wylie. After his wife died she had allowed 
herself to remember him — to remember 
now he used to stand up for her in the old 



district school, when he was big and brown 
and barefooted and she tiny and brown 
and barefooted. They had called her 
"Freckled Flavy," and because she re- 
sented it Rick had thrashed them all in 
systematic order. She remembered how 
splendid and knightly he had looked to 
her in his blue jeans suit and how she had 
cried over a splash of red blood on it and, 
a little older, written a fervent poem about 
it, beginning: "Battered and Broken and 
Soar." She even remembered some of 
the spelling — "He shed for me his jore." 

Then, older still, they had gone to the 
"Academy" together and she had worked 
Rick's algebra problems for him and well- 
nigh shed her "jore" for him in a wild en- 
deavor to initiate him into the mys- 
teries of logarithms. Rick had al- 
ways been better at thrashing than 
at figures. 

The latest memory Miss Flavia 
kept in so secret a drawer of her 
mind that she herself rarely 




'I came on purpose to ask you to introduce me to my father' 



n8 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



opened it. She tried to think, in her whim- 
sical, lonely meditations, that she had lost 
the combination of the lock, and would 
never open the little drawer again. 

"Will you? — Will you?— Will you?" 
chanted the girl, gayly, in her ears. "'Will 
you walk into my parlor/ and introduce 
me to my 'par'? You haven't promised, 
Miss Flavia." 

Miss Flavia hedged. She might be too 
busy — have another engagement — but 
of course if she was at liberty — 

"You don't want to!" Rosemary pouted. 
"You're perfectly willing to let me face 
him alone and perhaps — be eaten up! How 
do I know but that he will put me through 
an awful 'third degree:' — 'Daughter, an- 
swer! How many lies have you ever told? 
How many times have you ever said "kid,'' 
skipped instead of properly walked, for- 
gotten to say your prayers?' Well, if you 
are willing to risk — " 

"I'll come," laughed Miss Flavia. After 
the girl had gone she sat on, wondering 
what she would wear, how it would seem 
to see Rick again, how he would look. Miss 
Flavia had had so few happenings of note 
in her quiet life that this coming home of 
the boy who had shed his blood for her ap- 
peared unduly magnified. 

"He will be old!" cried Miss Flavia, in 
sudden dismay. An appalling picture pre- 
sented itself: Rick, white-haired and cane- 
bound, tottering perhaps, stooping! He 
had been ten years older than she, in the 
district school and Academy days. Ten 
years older than sixty — Miss Flavia 
groaned. The picture of Rick Wylie po- 
sing as seventy years old hurt her. Poor 
Rick! Poor Rick! It would hurt him to be 
old! 

Miss Flavia went slowly into the house 
and stood before the mirror. The person 
in elderly dress that looked back at her was 
familiar in its elderliness, but Miss Flavia 
sighed. The habit of sighing before her 
mirror had become a well-established one. 

"I must wear a white kerchief crossed 
on my breast — for poor Rick's sake I 
must even be a little older than this." She 
cast about in her mind for other things to 
do. How could her soft gray hair be made 
to lie any smoother than now ? How could 
her plain, ungarnished dress be any plainer? 
But she would see — she would see Rick 
should not be hurt by any contrasts. 



"As if there could be any!" she laughed, 
in sudden bitterness. "Flavia Drinkwater, 
what are you thinking of! Do you think 
you need any more evidences of old age 
than this? Look at yourself, will you? 
Look! Look!" 

For ten years Miss Flavia had been old. 
She had grown drearily used to it. Yet this 
morning she had found herself going over 
all her former fierce rebellion anew; the 
approach of her sixtieth birthday had done 
it. But now, remembering Rick, she was 
suddenly glad to be old. She would have 
cheerfully added ten years more. Youth 
had lost and age gained savor. In her sym- 
pathy for Rick in his piteous undoing she 
lost by degrees sympathy for herself. The 
person in elderly dress in the mirror she 
dismissed cavalierly. 

"Don't talk to me! Don't say another 
word! You don't interest me any more — 
I've got some one else to pity." 

Two days elapsed before Rosemary's hur- 
ried little scrawl was put into Miss Flavia 's 
hand. "Come at four — be sure! The 
train gets in at quarter past. I 've done my 
hair in sixteen ways and can't decide which 
is most becoming. I've got to look my best. 
If he does n't like the looks of me, bury me 
in my white dotted muslin. Put 'She hath 
done -her best' over me, and oh, weep a 
little tear for one who died so young!" 

It was like Rosemary. Miss Flavia 
smiled and set about her own sober prepa- 
rations. She smoothed her hair a little 
smoother, subduing all stray wisps that 
yearned to curl about her face. She donned 
the soft white kerchief. The ten added 
years might easily have been hers. Then 
she went to the child. 

"Inspect me!" tragically. "Will I do, 
Miss Flavia? Do fathers alive like the 
same kind of daughters as fathers on pa- 
per? We were so nice and comfy and ac- 
quainted on paper!" 

"He will ride up, of course," ran Miss 
Favia's thoughts, while her eyes inspected 
the beautiful young creature who whirled 
dizzily before her. "He would not think 
of walking a mile and a half. Rosemary, 
my dear," turning to her, " you must have 
a glass of cordial poured, and is his room 
ready for him to lie down? He will be so 
tired! At his age travelling is very try- 

fog." 

The girl ceased whirling. Her eyes took 



1 



THE MISTAKE 



119 



on a mildly ' resentful expression. "He 
never wrote old," she said. 

" He is seventy," Miss Flavia returned, 
sadly. 

" My gracious!" Rosemary was startled. 
"I never heard of such a thing! Then we'll 
have to help him up the walk, you on one 
side, I on the other. He'll be most dead." 
"He will need rest," repeated Miss Fla- 
via. Her mind pictured the returned wan- 
derer in a state approaching collapse, after 
his long-protracted service in foreign lands. 
The utter pathos of Rick Wylie in such a 
plight appealed to her. The old weight 
settled down upon her — oh, this growing 
old, this growing old! 

"There's a draught somewhere," shiv- 
ered Miss Flavia. Rosemary, coming back 
from an inspection of doors, regarded her 
with affectionate anxiety. She was very 
fond of Miss Flavia. 
" You're not ill, Miss Flavia?" 
"No, I'm old — like your father. Old 
\ people feel draughts, my dear; I hope you 
will remember for his sake." Old champion- 
ships, awaking keenly, prevented Miss 
Flavia's mentioning to the girl her own ten 
years' advantage over her father. She 
would stand by Rick. 
Rosemary's spirits were sinking. She 
I had not thought of her father as an old 
man. His jolly, comradely letters had 
1 breathed youth and strength, and the pic- 
| ture she had drawn of him had been very 
different from this one of Miss Flavia's. 
Poor father — poor Miss Flavia — poor 
; everybody who was old ! Her own rioting 
; youth made her feel in some way guilty. 
i She tried instinctively to subdue herself and 
put on age. 

" A hack is coming," announced Miss 

J Flavia from the window. "No, it is not a 

! hack, after all. But surely it is time — " 

I "A man is coming," Rosemary said, "but 

it is not an old man. It can't be — He's 

coming this way! Miss Flavia, will you 

look; he's coming here!" 

Miss Flavia was looking. The man who 
[was coming was not Richard Wylie, tot- 
tering on a cane and spent with an old 
j man's pitiful fatigue — it was Rick! His 
hair, to be sure — but she did not look at 
I his hair. She saw only his straight, broad 
I shoulders and the old splendid swing of 
them as he walked. She saw his whole alert 
jj carriage and jubilant air. It might almost 



have been the Academy Rick swinging a 
strapful of books! Miss Flavia gasped as 
she looked. But Rosemary, with a cry of 
joy, flew out of the room. Dreads, fears, 
all petty apprehensions were engulfed, 
blotted out, by a wave of love. 

Miss Flavia slipped away by a rear door 
and hastened home. Conflicting emotions 
rioted within her, chief among them amaze- 
ment and gentle chagrin and hurry to get 
out of sight. In front of her mirror she 
made a breathless speech: 

"Well? — Well? — Well? Why don't 
you say something, Flavia Drinkwater? I 
don't wonder you blush! Do you know 
what you have done? Grown old, that is 
what! You are the one who needs a cane 
and a cordial and a chance to lie down! 
You thought Rick Wylie was the one, 
did n't you ? You put on a kerchief and 
flattened your hair a little flatter, even — 
to match him! See how beautifully you 
match!" 

The sensitive lips curled scornfully. 
Miss Flavia began suddenly to tear off the 
neat white kerchief and plain black dress. 
Defiance woke in her eyes, then glimmers 
of amusement. It was so much like Rick 
to play this joke on her after all these years 
upon years! It was Rick. 

"I'll show him!" she laughed, and 
caught the elderly person in the mirror 
laughing, too. She loosened her soft gray 
hair and let it fall in gentle ripples around 
her face. It had wanted ten years to curl; 
now she would let it. She gathered it up in 
her hands and piled it in a loose mass from 
which rebellious little locks strayed at sweet 
will. The mirror-person looked back at 
her in wicked glee. 

"Oh, you like it, do you!" jibed Miss 
Flavia. " Confess you'd rather be young — 
you knew all the time you had it in you! 
Well, we'll see — go ahead and do your 
best." 

She did her best. The dress she selected 
after careful deliberation was golden brown, 
with riotous little frills. The soft old lace 
she had worn in her sacrificial elderliness she 
discarded loftily; a tiny gold chain, a strip 
of tucked muslin, a rose hastily picked, — 
she worked wonders with them and waited 
for the mirror-person's verdict. The mir- 
ror-person smiled. 

"Oh, you like it? I believe to my soul 
you are going to be vain ! What do you say 



120 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




HiJUki 



I guess you ain't only but six, are you? 



THE MISTAKE 



I2T 



to this, then — and this ? " clasping a quaint 
dull-gold bracelet on one slender wrist and 
slipping several beautiful rings on her fin- 
gers. It only remained to crowd a cluster 
of roses into her belt. 

Her very daring was intoxicating. It was 
as if she had been fasting for a long time 
and the sight of food was over-tempting. 
Her youth seemed to come back and turn 
her head — she laughed at herself, scoffed, 
but gazed in mild rapture. She exulted 
in the soft beauty of the mirror-person who 
was herself. 

"Now go and show Rick who else can 
defy time!" she challenged. "You're not 
afraid, are you? I dare you to go!" But 
before she went she slid off the dull-gold 
wristlet and all but one of the rings. She 
had the effect of doing it with great secrecy, 
to hide it from herself. 

The Mite sat on her gate-post swinging 
short-stockinged little legs. Miss Flavia 
might have been a harmless golden-brown 
ghost. 

"Oh, my mercy!" shrilled the Mite. 
"The outside o' you isn't you! You've 
took off something." 

"Yes, my old age," agreed, calmly, Miss 
Flavia. "I left it in my closet — don't you 
like me without it?" 

" Ye-es — oh, yes indeed, I like you, but 
I don't feel so 'quainted. Did it hurt?" It 
seemed a favorite query of the Mite. "To 
take it off, I mean ? I guess now you ain't 
only but six, too, are you?" 

"'Only but six,'" laughed Miss Flavia, 
but with a wistful undernote. The Mite 
leaped perilously to the ground and ex- 
tended a soiled little hand. "Come," she 
said, "an' play." Miss Flavia caught her 
up in a gentle gust of tenderness. The 
motherhood she had been denied cropped 
out sometimes. 

" Dear Mite, it 's only a dream — run 
away and remember never to grow old!" 

"I could take it off—" 

" Only for a minute — just to try youth 
on again. Take my advice, dear Mite, and 
stay six." 

Richard Wylie himself came down the 
walk to meet her, Rosemary a-heel. 



"He's a darling!" proclaimed the girl. 
"And he is n't old — " she stopped in sud- 
den wonder. For Miss Flavia was not old 
either. She had been quaffing some magic 
cup; its potency was almost startling. 

"Flavia!" the man uttered, "you take 
my breath away. I thought you would — 
er — look different." A big wholesome 
laugh boomed out. "Where's somebody 
for me to thrash ? If any chap 's been call- 
ing you names — " 

"Whyare n'tyou leaning on a cane ?" de- 
manded the woman. The girl glanced from 
one to the other of them in delight. They 
were both darlings! Quite suddenly and 
unexpectedly a seed of hope dropped into 
her breast. It was an undefined, vague lit- 
tle hope, but it was planted in fertile soil — 
Rosemary's seeds were accustomed to grow. 
The man and the woman were talking 
on. 

"No cane for me! Do you think I 'm go- 
ing to hobble up to Saint Peter's gate on a 
cane?" 

"But you are old," she contended. "We 
are old." 

"Age, my dear friends, — " He struck 
the old speech-attitude of the Academy 
and his voice rose dictatorially. His eyes were 
a boy's eyes, laughing down at her. "Age, 
my dear friends, is a popular delusion — a 
myth. There is no age! We are always as 
young as our hearts — Rosemary, you lit- 
tle chit, why don't you get the lady and 
gentleman some chairs? Do you think 
they can stand up all day?" 

"At their age," supplemented Miss Flavia. 
It was a merry little company out on the 
old lawn across which flitted, visible only 
to two of them, the little blue-jeans, bare- 
footed ghosts of a boy and tiny girl. Miss 
Flavia went home more gently content than 
for many days. At her gate, the Mite once 
more — 

"You goin' in to put it on again?" in a 
sweet treble. 

"No — no! " Miss Flavia cried. "I shall 
never put it on again. Age, dear little Mite 
of a friend — There is no age!" she quoted 
softly. "We are never older than our 
hearts." 




J- — , 



Editors Table 




We carry our children's horison with us all our 
days . — Holmes. 

An Old-Time School 

MORE than one hundred years ago, in a 
small settlement of Maine, a "skule" was 
started in a private house. As paper was very 
scarce, birch-bark was used for writing-books. 
Our great-grandfathers would be surprised at the 
wasteful schoolboys of to-day, recklessly tearing 
off the pages of their blocks and whittling down 
their lead-pencils. The quill of mother goose was 
their pen, and the school-ma'am of the olden time 
pointed a score or more of these goose-quills before 
she could begin to teach the rudiments of the Eng- 
lish language. Many old users of the quill clung to 
it, refusing to admit the superiority of the stiff 
steel pen. Sir Walter Scott tells of a certain author 
who laid at the feet of the poor goose his errors in 
composition as faults of style due to inconsistency. 
Who could be blamed but the goose, a bird most 
inconstant by nature, living in the three elements 
of water, earth, and air? Sir Walter disagreed, 
thinking that the most useful quality of the quill 
was its faculty of giving variety to language — the 
change from grave to gay, from description and 
dialogue to narrative and character. However, 
these ancient scholars scratched out their lessons 
with quills "Penna;" a feather was their pen. The 
school prospered, and soon it was transferred from 
the home to a small wooden house built by the 
enterprising settlers, a pattern for others in the 
surrounding country districts, or "deestricts," as 
they were called. The new building was erected 
on the slope of "Bradley," now "Pine Hill," in the 
village of Fryeburg, Me. This small village is 
chosen as the seat of a primitive school because its 
first teachers were prominent and interesting char- 
acters. The schoolhouse on the hill was built of 
wood, unpainted, with a rough stone step in front 
of the open door. The room was about forty feet 
square. The large fireplace on one side was well 
supplied with logs and wood for fuel from a great 
122 



pile in the yard. The desk was a wooden box set 
upon a small platform, raised one foot from the 
floor. The small framed glass windows were 
placed above the heads of the urchins, that there 
might be no temptation for them to look out-of- 
doors. The windows were protected on the out- 
side by wooden shutters, closed at night, as glass 
was very expensive and a stray stone would neces- 
sitate a patch in the glass or a board to keep out 
the air. The desks were made of plank one and a 
half inches thick, which gave the boys material to 
hack, scrape, and bore. In course of time their 
edges were notched and hewn in many shapes, 
carved with knife and daubed with ink. The 
benches were of hardwood without backs. The 
main floor was uneven, with patches of boards 
nailed on chinks and knot-holes. The hearth of 
the fireplace was made of rough unhewn stone like 
the doorstep, and after a year's use was sunk in 
many places. The large iron and andirons upon 
which the wood rested were often without a foot, 
and were held up by bricks. 

Later, a grammar school was started in the for- 
lorn frame building, and Paul Langdon, son of the 
president of Harvard College, was chosen teacher. 
Harvard's president had offered prayer with the 
continental army before the battle of Bunker Hill. 
Paul Langdon was undoubtedly the original of the 
character "Bernard Langdon" in Holmes's 
"Elsie Venner." The salary for teaching this 
grammar school was $300. The school thus mod- 
estly started was incorporated as an academy and 
endowed with a tract of land by the General Court 
of Massachusetts, of which State Maine formed a 
part. Mr. Langdon was succeeded by Daniel 
Webster as preceptor, an unknown youth of nine- 
teen years, and here he was given his first start in 
the world. 

A stern pedagogue he was, his great black eyes 
gleaming, sometimes with a wrath that fairly terri- 
fied his pupils, while his powerful voice rang out 
in thunder tones when one of them was peculiarly 
stupid. Senator George F. Hoar, in speaking of 



EDITOR'S TABLE 



123 



him in his riper years, said that his intellect seemed 
like a vast quarry. Great as were the things that 
Webster said, profound as was his reasoning, lofty 
as were the flights of his imagination, stirring as 
were his appeals to the profoundest passions of his 
countrymen, there is a constant feeling that Jove 
is behind these thunderbolts — there is plenty of 
reserve power behind. 

"Half his strength he put not forth, but checked 
His thunder in mid -volley." 

Webster's salary was $350, which he increased 
by copying deeds in the Fryeburg Registry Office. 
This income was to help him to finish his course 
of study in Dartmouth College. His maiden effort 
at speech-making was made on the Fourth of July, 
in the old village church in Fryeburg, and for one 
so young it was a remarkably brilliant effort, the 
original manuscript of this oration being still pre- 
served. It is a remarkable fact that the last speech 
made by Webster in the United States Senate, 
July 17, 1850, concluded with the same peroration 
as this Fryeburg oration, forty-eight years before: 
"Above fear, above danger, he feels that the last 
end which can happen to any man never comes too 
soon if he falls in defense of the laws and liberties 
of his country." Mr. W. D. Howells passed a 
beautiful winter Sunday in the historic village of 
Fryeburg, and employed some of its topography 
and landscape in his novel, "A Modern Instance." 
He said afterwards that he might have made a 
better story if he had derived any part of it from 
the village life. 

One of the text-books used in the old schools 
was "Peter Parley's Geography," a wonderfully 
entertaining book for the children — Good old 
Peter Parley! He knew the value of rhyme and 
rhythm — a general survey of the earth's surface 
rendered in rhyme of which these lines are a 
specimen : 

"The world is round and, like a ball, 
Seems swinging in the air; 
The changing sky surrounds it all, , 
And stars are shining there. 



" Water and land upon the face 
Of this round world we see; 
The land is man 's safe dwelling-place, 
And ships sail on the sea. " 

Other rhymes followed, telling of mighty con- 
tinents and oceans of hills and mountains, all to- 
gether making a geographical poem to be treasured 
in the memory. Other books were "The National 
Reader" and "Perry's Spelling-Book," the only 
sure guide to the English language. "Young 
Ladies' Accidence," "Pope's Essay on Man," and 
"Young's Night Thoughts" were used for parsing. 
The Bible was the first book opened in the morn- 
ing, and a chapter was read by the scholars. Then 
came the calls from the teacher to the reading- 
classes, the first grade leaving their seats and 
forming in a line on the floor in front, every foot 
placed with military precision on a crack in the 
board floor. "Toe the mark! Make your bow! 
Mind all the stops and speak up loud!" were the 
orders from the teacher. On entering the school 
all pupils were required to "Make their manners," 
— the boys a bow and the girls a courtesy. The 
books for oratory for the older boys were "The 
American Preceptor," "Scott's Elocution," and 
"Webster's Third Part." These were full of 
patriotic speeches — "Freedom, Liberty, and In- 
dependence for the sons and grandsons of the Revo- 
lution." 

The primitive schools, notwithstanding their 
limitations, furnished many successful men and 
women. A prominent educator said that the old 
country farm was a great laboratory, and this, 
added to the country-school discipline, developed 
a scientific taste and great persistency, in which 
country boys excel. 

The customs, the industries, and the social hab- 
its of the early settlers have greatly changed. It is 
a problem for the future to solve whether the 
Anglo-Saxon race can keep ahead under these new 
conditions. 

Mary F. T. Souther. 




TWO notable biographies claim attention this 
month : that of Edwin Lawrence Godkin and 
the story of the journalist, politician, and hard 
hitter, Charles A. Dana; each carefully and ad- 
mirably prepared by an intimate friend. Rollo 
Ogden, of the New York Post, writes of Godkin' s 
career, and Major-General James Harrison Wil- 
son, of Dana. 

"Great men come in clusters" said Lowell, and 
others note that three distinguished men often ap- 
pear in one department of the world's work as 
contemporaries. Add Horace Greeley and you 
have a trio well worth careful study, each a born 
fighter, fearless, severe, and at times cruel. God- 
kin's face, the lower part, was of the bull-dog 
type; Dana's side-face, at least, shows the thought- 
ful scholar; while poor Greeley, to use Godkin' s 
description, had a "simple, good-natured, and 
hopelessly peaceable face" framed in long yellow 
locks and a faded all-around beard. "To see him 
walk up Broadway, you would take him for a 
small farmer of the Quaker persuasion, who had 
lost all the neatness of the sect, but had appropri- 
ated in his disposition a double portion of its 
meekness. " 

Godkin's father was an Irishman, a Presbyte- 
rian clergyman ardently committed to the Young 
Ireland movement, who was forced out of his 
pulpit on account of some prize essays which were 
too frank to please. He was identified with the 
cause of Home Rule till his death; was an editor 
of a Dublin daily, and served also as Irish cor- 
respondent of the London Times. "Thus the orig- 
inal sin of journalism was fairly in the blood." 
He was also a prolific controversial writer; but 
his brilliant son, his first-born, went far beyond 
him in "pungency and picturesqueness of style, 
apt citation from wide reading, and a dash of 
original humor." I find no allusions to his 
124 



mother; perhaps the gift of humor came through 
her. 

He had a good education at private schools and 
Queen's College, Belfast, taking his degree in 
1 85 1. A sister much younger gives her personal 
impression of him at that time: 

"My childish recollection of my big brother at 
this period is that he was a very handsome, re- 
fined, delicate-looking young man; witty, brilliant, 
charming, proud, with a fiery temper, but lovable 
and affectionate." 

Next, a short study of law ; then employed by 
the Cassells for a time as sub-editor of their maga- 
zine; in his twenty-second year he published his 
first book, a "History of Hungary," suggested by 
Kossuth's visit to England. It was successful 
and highly praised, but in writing of it to his dear 
friend Prof. Charles Eliot Norton, in 1870, he 
says, "The preface, I am glad to find, is tolerably 
modest; but I am forced to admit that the philo- 
sophical reflections scattered through it are fear- 
fully profound. Indeed, on looking through it, I 
am surprised that the production of so much wis- 
dom at that early age did not exhaust me more. " 
He insisted that there was too much of "rhetoric" 
in his first writings; but Mr. Ogden insists on a 
fine glow combined with maturity of thought. 
His early definition of Democrats was, "All those 
whose hopes and sympathies are not bound up in 
a party or class, but look for the welfare and prog- 
ress of humanity as the goal of their striving." 

Mr. Godkin's service for two years as special 
correspondent in the Crimean War was a power- 
fully moulding experience. It helped to give him 
that realistic view of foreign lands and peoples 
which was, later on, to make so much of his wri- 
ting vivid. 

"Thrown into a jumble of nationalities, made 
perforce an intimate of soldiers, diplomats, sail- 



BOOKS AS I SEE THEM 



I2 5 



ors, adventurers, correspondents, cooks, drivers, 
peasants, governors, inn-keepers, he brought away 
a series of clear-cut mental photographs which 
never grew blurred, and to no part of his life did 
he recur more frequently or with more gusto." 
Among these indelible impressions was a hatred 
of war; he had seen too much of its horrors. 

He was young for such important work, and it 
was a great distinction. "I was only twenty-two, 
and knew nothing about either Greece or the 
Greeks or Constantinople; but I was possessed of 
that common illusion of young men, — that facility 
in composition indicates the existence of thought. " 

You will greatly enjoy his letters, which I have 
no time to quote. And soon come to his eager, 
restless, adventurous mind a clear call to America 
— not the America of the starving Irishman, or 
the land of generous well-to-do people, but that 
country which was for him the living demonstra- 
tion of democratic principles of government. 

He arrived in November, 1856, just on the eve 
of a presidential election. 

"The excitement was tremendous. I attended a 
Fremont meeting in the old Academy of Music, 
at which the Hutchinson family sang songs about 
freedom in the intervals between speeches that 
astounded me by their heat and extravagance. " 

He soon became acquainted with Frederic Law 
Olmsted and George Waring, Jr., and spent 
many happy hours in their homes. 

Being sent South for information about the 
cotton crop, he wrote many letters full of surprise 
at the novel sights. 

After describing a Mississippi swamp, only de- 
sirable to a wild-duck shooter or a runaway negro, 
he most graphically pictures the "poor niggerless 
whites of the slave States — the most wretched, 
most cadaverous, most thinly clad, most lean, 
most haggard, most woebegone portion of the 
human race. They are generally far removed 
from all neighbors of their own rank; they can- 
not associate with negroes. They chew, spit, loaf, 
and die, melancholy, taciturn, surly, and sickly. 
They are an unpleasing vision." 

Returning to New York in 1857, journalism 
and politics drew him away from the practice of 
law. 

His friends and acquaintances in New York, 
Boston, and Cambridge were a most important 
part of his life, and their names would stand at 
the top of the list in either place. 

Among his studies of things American are many 
valuable reports of the Tribune staff and its ec- 
centric editor — men like Charles A. Dana, 
George Ripley, George William Curtis, and Bay- 
ard Taylor. 



He says that Greeley was adored by farmers in 
New England and the Western Reserve, who be- 
lieved he wrote every word of the Tribune, not 
excepting the advertisements. 

But he had many enemies among his com- 
peers who had encountered his ferocious contempt. 
Bryant denounced him as a blackguard. 

In the summer of 1859 Godkin married, at 
New Haven, Frances Elizabeth, the elder daugh- 
ter of Mr. Samuel Edmund Foote, of that town, 
a man of culture, wealth, and patriotism. She 
was a girl of remarkable grace and charm, to 
whom Henry James, Sr., wrote, several years 
later: "I have seen no one since I saw you in Rip- 
ton to be compared with you; no one whom I ad- 
mire so much, whom I esteem so much, and 
whom I love so much. Women generally are such 
slips of things, with so little root in nature, as to 
inspire only frivolous attachments, while your 
qualities justify the manliest." 

Their marriage was one of great happiness. 

During the Civil War Mr. Godkin especially 
devoted his energies to attacking and dispelling 
English ignorance and prejudice about America 
and the war. 

So ardent was he in the advocacy of the Fed- 
eral cause that he was accused in England of hav- 
ing "been employed" by the Washington authori- 
ties. His denial of this slander, and his defense, 
were strong and fierce. Here is one sentence: 
" It has got to be so much the fashion for English- 
men who come to this country to hold the people 
who admit them to their houses up to ridicule, to 
abuse their furniture, and their manners, and their 
food, and even caricature their wives and daugh- 
ters, that I believe that when any writer has de- 
cency enough to observe the rules of civilized 
society in these matters he is set down by Con- 
federate sympathizers in London as having been 
corrupted by the Yankee authorities." 

We now come to the starting of the Nation, " a 
weekly Journal of Politics, Literature, Science, 
and Art, the first number appearing July, 1865." 

The estimate of Mr. Godkin's work on the 
Nation from the pen of Professor William James 
only expresses the views of thousands as to the 
singular value of his contribution to American 
journalism. "To my generation, his was cer- 
tainly the towering influence in all thought con- 
cerning public affairs, and indirectly his influence 
has certainly been more pervasive than that of 
any other writer of the generation, for he influ- 
enced other writers who never quoted him, and 
determined the whole current of discussion." 

There were very serious difficulties to contend 
with, and there was a decided prejudice against 



126 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



Godkin as foreign-born. One especially grouchy 
man who had put a good deal of money into the 
venture said, "I supposed Godkin was an En- 
glishman, but I find he is a d — d Irishman." 

But valuable friends, as Lowell, Emerson, 
George P. Marsh, Professor Norton, stood by 
and cheered and encouraged the down-hearted 
foreigner. 

Francis Parkman wrote, "I have always re- 
garded the Nation as the most valuable of Ameri- 
can journals, and I ought to know, for I have 
read every number since it first appeared." 

"What an influence you have!" exclaimed 
Curtis. And every one agreed as to his charm- 
ing personality; Matthew Arnold said that he was 
a typical specimen of the "Irishman of culture." 
His was the true Celtic temperament: full of 
hearty laughter, with mystic forebodings brood- 
ing near, impulsive, affectionate, and always ready 
for combat. In one letter, after narrating a series 
of grievances, he exclaimed, "What an infernal 
old world it is! Nobody has a good time in it but 
Satan, and the Catholics worry even him with 
holy water." But wrath would soon be driven 
away by some joke. 

The humorous view of life was never long ab- 
sent. He termed Fate herself "a renowned humor- 
ist." He enjoyed intensely what George Eliot 
called the laughter of the intellect. 

"His vivacity, his playful wit, his fund of ap- 
posite anecdote, with the stores of experience and 
knowledge which he could draw upon instruct- 
ively, made him a delightful and much-sought 
table-companion. In this man of overflowing 
spirits in private life, this brilliant- talker this 
raconteur, this full mind at ease, many found it 
difficult to recognize the austere moralist and 
reformer. " 

He was blessed with the admiring friendship 
of many intellectual and fascinating women, and 
their tributes are interesting. Mrs. Norton said, 
"I never saw a man so successful in keeping up 
social superficialities in spite of the familiarities 
of continued intercourse." One of his most treas- 
ured women friends told him that she valued him 
not so much for his knowledge or his courage or 
his strong sense of duty as for his "fooling." 

On his sixty-fourth birthday: "I forgot that I 
had revealed to you the secret of my prison-house; 
I never expected to be sixty-four. I thought I 
should get round it in some way; do not tell any 
one else about it. 

" Old age is a subtle poison, and it is sad to feel 
it in one's veins; but this makes it all the more 
necessary to get all we can out of life before it 
floors us." 



Mr. Godkin was a born reader and seemed 
familiar with almost everything worth reading. 

In regard to religion; while deeply reverent, he 
believed that one could be a Christian without 
being connected with any special church. 

In 1870 he was offered the professorship of 
history at Harvard, but decided to go on with the 
Nation, greatly to the relief of his readers. The 
letters we are allowed to read from his most inti- 
mate friends when in a negligee mood are to me 
perfectly fascinating, Lowell's especially. Pro- 
fessor Norton was a devoted and lifelong friend. 

No one ever had a more faithful coterie of sup- 
porters than Godkin, who had a genius for get- 
ting to the hearts of those he cared for and holding 
them close to him through the joys and sorrows, 
the depressions and the triumphs, of his intense 
leadership against the political tricks and treachery 
of the men whose innermost minds he read so 
correctly. 

I once read of this epitaph on a woman's tomb- 
stone: "She always made home happy." 

There can be no higher praise for man or wom- 
an, and the same tribute can be given to this 
feared and hated gladiator, who struck heavy 
blows and was never vanquished. 

That such a persistent fighter had a nature so 
tender, loving, and gentle as to charm and com- 
fort his home-life seems rare and beautiful; the 
reverse of this condition is far more common. 

The testimony on this delightful characteristic 
was universal. This from a "one-glass-eyed 
letter-carrier" of Cambridge, who said to Norton: 
"Why, sir, Mr. Godkin was jes' so every time. 
You see when I was a boy there was an old gen- 
tleman who lived near Charles Sumner. He was 
white-haired; he used to take me in his gig some- 
times to hold his horse, and he told me, says he, 
you can always tell a real gentleman by his bein' 
jes' so every time. And I've found he was about 
right, and I don't think I ever met a man who was 
more jes' so every time than Mr. Godkin. " And 
Godkin instantly capped this Yankeeism with a 
quotation from Froissart: 

" Un gentilhomme est tou jours gentilhomme, et se 
montre toujour s tel, dans besoin et dans le danger.'* 

In 1 88 1 Mr. Godkin went to the Evening Post, 
carrying the Nation with him — the same antag- 
onist in a new field, and his fight with the wild 
beasts of Tammany made a great excitement. 

Such valiant service brought to his aid more 
adherents, more appreciation, a truly loving lov- 
ing-cup, to celebrate the outgoing of the Lords of 
Misrule. 

About this time he wrote to Bishop Potter: "I 
have reached the time of life at which Matthew 



BOOKS AS I SEE THEM 



127 



Arnold says we begin to care less about regula- 
ting other people's lives, and more for the infusion 
of grace and peace into our own." 

I cannot omit a precious bit of wisdom about 
certain women: "Quite correct about 'dread of 
men for vehement women.' Dread is a mild word. 
I would myself go fifty miles to avoid one who 
was likely to be 'vehement' with me." And 
to his second wife in the same letter: "Oh, my 
dear, cultivate sweetness and kindliness and po- 
liteness. In the hour of death, and in the day of 
judgment even, they will help you. " 

The last chapter of his life was full of suffering 
and necessity for constant precautions, but the 
brave, cheery spirit never once weakened. His 
death occurred in May, 1902. He was buried at 
Hazelbeach Churchyard, Northampton, and on 
his tombstone is a long inscription from the pen 
of Mr. Bryce, who was a close friend for thirty- 
two years. 

The life of Charles A. Dana is equally engross- 
ing; written by a soldier, the military passages 
are of course made more prominent than his 
journalistic career, but we know pretty fully about 
that. Godkin was seriously annoyed by constant 
allusions to his being an Irishman, as if that were 
a criminal offence. Dana was of absulutely pure 
New England blood, and he was "one of the most 
intense Americans, one of the most stalwart be- 
lievers in the American people, and one of the 
most devoted partisans of American institutions 
that the country has produced." His great-grand- 
mother and his mother were women of unusual 
character and worth. Charles was always a 
wonder in his studies, classed with boys six and 
eight years his senior and picking up languages 
with great facility. 

His uncle, with whom he worked as a clerk in 
Buffalo, traded a good deal with the Seneca In- 
dians, and in a short time he had pratically mas- 
tered their language — and never forgot it either; 
for during the siege of Vicksburg he met a well- 
educated Seneca Indian who was surprised and 
gratified to be spoken to in his own tongue. This 
began a friendship which lasted as long as Cap- 
tain Parker lived. 

At twenty Dana entered Harvard College and 
was forced to depend absolutely upon himself and 
the funds of the college. Like many another poor 
boy rich in brains and afterwards to be heard from 
he taught school to earn his tuition. Professor 
Felton was kind to him and gave him encourage- 
ment to go on; but so much use of his eyes strained 
the optic nerve, and it was impossible for him to 
look at a book. 

The third chapter describes his share in the 



community life at Brook Farm, and the meeting 
of the interesting young woman whom he mar- 
ried. I can find no other mention of her but just 
here, and wish more could have been given of the 
home-life, as with Godkin's biography. 

Horace Greeley had met Dana, and both he 
and his wife were sympathetic with Brook Farm, 
and the next move was to New York as city editor 
of the Tribune at ten dollars a week, soon in- 
creased to fourteen. 

I forgot to mention one little episode just be- 
fore the engagement with Greeley. He was en- 
gaged by Elizur Wright, editor of the Chronotype, 
which was a most orthodox paper and generally 
taken by the Congregational ministers of Massa- 
chusetts, to make himself generally useful and act 
as editor during Wright's absence. 

The first time Wright was absent his paper 
came out "mighty strong against hell," to the 
horror of the astonished subscribers and the dis- 
tress of the responsible editor, who was obliged 
to write a personal letter to every one of these 
shocked clergymen and to many of the deacons, 
explaining the situation. 

Yes, it was a dangerous experiment to let Dana 
loose on a paper; he was sure to get some one 
into trouble. He soon desired to go to Europe, 
especially Germany, and send home letters to the 
Tribune. 

Greeley told him he did not know enough to 
write anything from there worth while, but at last 
agreed to give him ten dollars a letter, and he se- 
cured several other places on papers as corre- 
spondent. 

The letters, while not absolutely identical, con- 
stituted the first syndicated correspondence ever 
contracted for by any one in either Europe or 
America. With his political studies, they were 
the most interesting Dana ever wrote, except those 
covering the Civil War in America. 

Then back to the Tribune, where, as managing 
editor, he was interested in every subject, wrote 
about almost everything, and bossed all the con- 
tributors, taking all sorts of liberties with their 
work. As for instance: Having taken liberties with 
Pike's proofs, he wrote, " If you don't like this, 
swear all you wish, but you can't help it. The 
thing is put through, and what you may say is a 
matter of perfect indifference." 

His influence in the Tribune was supreme, and 
even Greeley, while at Washington, was almost 
driven crazy by what his co-worker put in. His 
appeals were really piteous. He implored Dana 
not to attack people in Washington without con- 
sulting him, saying, "It will hurt us dreadfully. 
Do send some one here and kill me if you cannot 



128 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



stop it, for I can bear it no longer. My life is a 
torture to me." 

But Dana just tore along, riding roughshod 
over everybody who did not behave as he thought 
was right. 

Some of Greeley's quaint phrases are preserved 
in letters to the officer in charge. 

Referring to an old reporter whom he could n't 
use, but wanted carried on the roll a little longer, 
he wrote, "I would n't mind his being a genius if 
he was not a fool." 

Having had his own correspondence crowded 
out to make room for a long article on the new 
opera-house, and the feasibility of sustaining the 
opera in New York, he inquired of Dana, "What 
would it cost to burn the opera-house? If the 
price is reasonable, have it done and send me the 
bill." 

Dana found time in the midst of all this wild 
turmoil to prepare a small volume of German 
legends for children and to edit for the press a 
work illustrated with steel engravings, known as 
"Meyer's Universum," or views of the most re- 
markable places and objects of all countries. 

Dana and Greeley never could travel in double 
harness, and their separation was inevitable. Each 
must be entire master, and in the Tribune Dana 
complained that there were twenty masters. 

"The Household Book of Poetry," still a 
standard anthology, occupied him for some time, 
and work on a Cyclopaedia; then on to Washing- 
ton to serve as a daily reporter of what he might 
see and hear. As the Argonaut puts it, "Dana had 
become the eye and the ear of the government, 
and probably his services, largely confidential as 
they were, can never receive an exaggerated 
value." 

He thought Abraham Lincoln was a greater gen- 
eral than Grant or Thomas. He had an interest- 
ing interview with the President the very day of 
his death, and probably heard him tell his last 
story, one which I have never heard. It was in 
regard to the arrest of a Confederate commis- 
sioner, who was trying to escape to Europe. 
Stanton thought he ought to be caught, but sent 
Dana to refer the matter to the President. 

As soon as the latter understood the question 
to be answered, he said, "No, I rather think not. 



When you have got an elephant by the hind leg, 
and he is trying to run away, it 's best to let him 
run!" 

Oh, what terrible and scathing severity was 
shown by Dana, with a withering wit shattering 
like the lightning's power, in his work on the 
Sun! 

With what ill-concealed contempt he described 
Hancock's letter of acceptance! "It is as broad 
and comprehensive as the continent, as elastic as 
india-rubber, and as sweet as honey. " 

In speaking of his personality he said, "Gen- 
eral Hancock is a good man, weighing two hun- 
dred and fifty pounds." Even Whitman was 
disturbed by such universal castigation. He said: 
"Years ago, one day, I met Dana, Charles A. 
Dana, the Sun man, on the street. It was in New 
York; it was at a period when Dana's public ut- 
terances were particularly irascible, he was find- 
ing fault with all things, all people, nobody satis- 
fying him, nobody hitting his mark; Grant, partic- 
ularly, a great national figure, was subjected to 
constant castigation from Dana. Well, that day, 
with Dana, the instant I saw him, I made for him, 
talked my loudest, saying, 'What in hell is the 
matter with you, Dana, that nothing satisfies you; 
that you keep up an everlasting growl about 
everybody, everything?' 

"Dana waited till I was through, and then 
took me by the lapel of the coat: 'See here, 
Walt, have you spent all these years in the world 
and not known, not learned (as I have), what a 
sorry, mean lot mankind is, anyhow?'" 

As to religion, he gave all prefect liberty in mat- 
ters of faith, but was always a steadfast friend of 
true religion; had no hope of immortality; said, 
"The belief is all based on man's egotism and 
that hope which springs eternal in the human 
breast. " 

At home, Dana was devoted to the best in art, 
literature, music, collected rare specimens of por- 
celain; and around his island home be created a 
fairyland of trees and flowers. After a long life 
of perfect health, the end came suddenly. 

" He was a very great editor, if not the greatest 
the country had produced. His work was done, 
and there was but one Dana and one Sun.'" 
[Harper and Brothers, $3.00.] 




His Excellency James H. Higgins, Governor of Rhode Island 



- 



New England Magazine 



Vol. XXXVII 



OCTOBER, 1907 



Number 2 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH 
NEW ENGLAND? 



IV 



JRHODE ISLAND, THE STATE ON THE UP-GRADE : THE HOME 
OF THE HIGH-GRADE IMMIGRANT, OF MIGHTY MANU- 
FACTORIES, OF PECULIAR POLITICS, AND AN 
EARNEST DESIRE FOR BETTER CONDITIONS 



By FRANK PUTNAM 




jHODE ISLAND, the 

smallest and most dense- 
ly populated State in 
the Union, covers a 
thousand square miles 
of land and three hun- 
dred miles of water — 
ibout the size of a small county in Texas. 
The traveller, having these facts in mind, 
is amazed, as he rides up and down the 
railways, to see how large a portion of 
Rhode Island is abandoned to wild pasture 
md scrub timber. Railroad lines cross the 
State from east to west through the north- 
ern, central, and southern tiers of towns, 
:>ut more than one-half of its area has no 
outlet by either steam line or trolley. For 
Ipample, there is no railway along the 
itouthern coast of the State, nor any north 
t md south line traversing the western towns. 
I The population of the State is 480,000, 
jjin increase of nearly twenty-one per cent 
In ten years. This is much larger than 
he total increase for the same period in 
» Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. 
{ Df the 480,000, Colonel Webb, the State's 

131 



commissioner of industrial statistics, tells 
me 248,000, according to a census he has 
just completed, are Roman Catholic, and 
about thirty-five per cent are of foreign 
birth. Sixty-five per cent of the State's 
population are either of foreign birth or par- 
entage. Most of the immigrants came in 
from Ireland, French Canada, and, lat- 
terly, from Italy. The Irish are mainly 
Democratic in politics; the French as a 
rule are Republican; and the Italians also 
show a tendency to join the Republican 
party. Taken altogether, they fit rapidly 
and well into the intense and complicated 
industrial and political life of the common- 
wealth. Indeed, it is the boast of Rhode 
Island that she gets the pick of the skilled 
workmen that come to America from 
foreign lands. She has no port of entry for 
immigrants, but the fame of her great 
mills and factories, which are not only in 
many instances the largest but also the 
most perfect of their kind in America, at- 
tracts the skilled and intelligent new-comer 
and so maintains the high standard of her 
industrial institutions. 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 133 



Almost as Many Shops as Farms 

Less than one-eighth of Rhode Island's 
population is engaged in farming. There 
are between five thousand and six thousand 
farms in operation, and almost an equal 
number of shops and factories devoted to 
manufacturing and repairing. More than 
any other State, Rhode Island carries all 
her eggs in one basket, and fulfils Pud- 
d 'nhead Wilson's rule for success by keep- 
ing her eyes constantly upon that basket. 
If Manufacturing is the chief and almost the 
I sole business of the people of Little Rhody. 
I There are nearly two thousand shops and 
i i factories that have an annual turn-over of 
I more than $500 each — or one for each 
j 250 inhabitants. 

On the farms the chief crop is hay, 
1 which finds a good market in the manu- 
1 facturing centres where many horses are 
ill kept. There is very little market-garden- 
1 ing done. This industry is increasing some- 
1 what in the neighborhood of the larger 
j j cities, — Providence, Pawtucket, Newport, 
i| and Woonsocket, — but most of the cities' 
: I supply of fresh vegetables is brought in 
i| from the South. Doubtless, now that the 
Italians are turning their attention to this 
work, they will in due season bring it to 
the same high and very profitable develop- 
ment that they have achieved in the market- 
gardening districts tributary to Boston. 

The State maintains an agricultural 
college at Kingston, and supports it liber- 
ally, considering the small extent of the 
industry; but the manufacturing indus- 
tries, with their better opportunities for 
exceptional talent, steadily draw the most 
enterprising youths from the farms into 
the cities. As a not unnatural conse- 
quence, many of the farming-towns have 
jlong been at a standstill in population and 
k development. Some of them have fewer 
J inhabitants than they had fifty years ago. 
JlReligion, education, and the social virtues 
j and graces that flow out of these influences 
j pave declined with the decline of agricul- 
ture and the churches and schools that it 
once supported. 

Rural Towns Need Rail Outlets 

But the State is unmistakably on the up- 

ide in every way, and this advance 

lovement is shared to some extent by 



even the most backward of the country 
towns. They suffer most from the lack of 
means of getting their products into the city 
markets. There is no doubt that if either 
the State or private companies were to 
build and operate electric trolley-lines con- 
necting the remoter country towns with 
the urban centres, the resultant gains, both 
in money and character, would amply 
make good the investment. Much of the 
land that now lies idle, or that is worked in a 
hopeless fashion, is capable, I am assured 
on good authority, of being made profit- 
ably productive if means are afforded to 
get its products into the city markets. If 
private capital continues indifferent to the 
opportunity here presented the State 
might well take up the work. Its invest- 
ment should be made good by the result- 
ant increase in taxable values alone, to say 
nothing of the upward impulse that would 
be given to the population of those towns 
now contemptuously and somewhat un- 
justly dubbed "barbarian" by their more 
fortunate neighbors in the thriving urban 
communities. 

This subject is one that should command 
the attention of the Legislature. At pres- 
ent, for causes that will be explained fur- 
ther on, the country towns dominate the 
Legislature; but the trend is toward a re- 
adjustment of representation that will 
lodge control in the hands of the cities. If 
the country towns are wise, they will make 
use of their power while they still have it to 
provide the obviously needed means of de- 
veloping their resources. The Legislature 
might either appropriate State funds to 
build electric lines through the towns that 
are now shut out from the world by lack 
of them, these lines to be operated by the 
State or leased to private companies, or it 
might grant franchises to private com- 
panies upon terms sufficiently favorable 
to induce the investment of capital that 
would otherwise hold aloof from this field. 

Big Industries Built by Brains and 
Energy 

The manufactures of Rhode Island, like 
those of Vermont, represent brains and 
energy far more than any natural advan- 
tages. The State has neither coal nor iron. 
It is served by a single railroad, the New 
York, New Haven & Hartford, and it has 



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LORRAINE MANUFACTURING COMPANY 







HOWARDS. B.ULLOUGh, AMERICAN MACHINE COMPANY 




<- ' «JPHd 






HOPE.WEB8IN6 COMPANY 




j 



i 




»»^ 






. ::.■ Him 



BROWN 6 SHARPE MANUFACTURING CO. Providence R.I. 

Largest Plant of^ts kind in America 



*»«r 5 ,^- 




C.B.COTTRELL & SONS COMPANY Westerly R.I 



V 



SglpsiSlfefef|!>- 




WOONSOCKET MACHINE & PRESS CO. Woonsocket R, I. 




GORHAM MANUFACTURING COMPANY Providence R. L 

Largest . : 5tuyERWARE Factory in theWorld 



136 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Looking up Westminster Street, Providence, in the retail district 



no good seaport. Providence is located a 
dozen miles above deep water, on Nar- 
ragansett Bay, and is only a barge port. 
A few coasting-vessels of light draught 
enter the port, but deep-sea-going vessels 
cannot come in there. The city owns no 
docks, and the private wharves are so few 
that sea-traffic languishes. During the 
coal strike vessels had frequently to wait 
several days for a chance to unload their 
cargoes. General Brayton told me that 
it was originally intended to locate the city 
a dozen miles further down the bay. The 
land was platted and plans made, but in 
the curious ways often taken by city growth, 
the trend was up the bay and away from 
the sea. 

I asked General Brayton, who for thirty 
years, by common report, has " bossed" 
the political affairs of Rhode Island, and 
who probably knows the State as well as 
any other living man, why Rhode Island's 
representatives in Congress had never got 
federal appropriations to give Providence 
the first-class harbor to which her size 



and commerce entitle her. It seemed to 
me that Providence, situated two hundred 
miles nearer the South than Boston, ought 
to have become the principal sea-gate of 
New England. General Brayton explained 
that for a dozen miles below the city Nar- 
ragansett Bay is shallow, and that in order 
to maintain a good channel it would be 
necessary to dredge constantly, at large 
expense. He did not tell me that the rail- 
road, whose chief legislative representa- 
tive he is, receiving a large annual sal- 
ary, had subtly opposed harbor improve- 
ments; but, remembering how the trans- 
continental lines have always, openly and 
secretly, fought the Panama Canal project, 
I wondered whether Providence's lack of 
harbor facilities might not be due to the 
quiet manipulation of the railroad. The 
government has to dredge constantly in 
the harbors of New York, Galveston, New 
Orleans, and other great ports, and its 
original outlay for harbors in these and 
other cities has been greater than it would 
need be at Providence. It seemed to me 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 



i37 




Robert Hale Ives Goddard, who answered Lincoln's first call as a private, and was a colonel at the 

end of the war. A fellow of Brown University, treasurer of the Lonsdale Company and the 

Berkeley Company, prominent in other manufacturing and financial institutions 

of Rhode Island. Democrats and independent Republicans 

hope to make him United States Senator 



that Senator Aldrich, the most powerful 
member of the United States Senate, 
could have got for Providence at least 
equal favor with New Orleans, Galveston, 
and Houston. "But we have onlv two 



representatives in the House," said Gen- 
eral Bray ton. The explanation seems 
scarcely sufficient. 

Rhode Island would certainly profit largely 
by procuring a deep harbor and adequate 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 139 



wharfage at Providence, and by rail com- 
munication between her isolated farming- 
towns and her cities. Perhaps these are 
the most important opportunities which 
now seem to be neglected in the State's in- 
dustrial program. 

Factory Villages in the Country 

You ride along on any of the railway 
lines in the State, through long stretches 
of wild lands, unused and almost unin- 



Georgia and the Carolinas, where the New 
Englanders have taken hold of the industry, 
but it jars upon one bred in the States 
further West. There, except in a very few 
of the largest cities, and in a few big trust 
factories only, the workmen are not re- 
strained by high fences and locked gates. 
It used to be said, not so many years ago, 
that when a Chicago man wanted to put 
livery on his servants he had to send East 
to get the servants ; no Western man would 
wear livery. There was something in the 




The Rhode Island State Normal School 



habited, until suddenly you come into a 
pretty mill village situated on a river. 
There are many of these communities, lo- 
cated in rural environment but having 
practically no connection with rural life. 
If you are from the South, or the Middle 
West, you will wonder, perhaps, at the 
high fences with locked gates that enclose 
the big textile mills. This custom of lock- 
ing workmen in, and locking the rest of the 
world out, adapted from the textile dis- 
tricts of the Old World, has not yet found 
its way West or South to any extent. You 
will see a few of these mill barricades in 



atmosphere that made it seem a degrada- 
tion, and the West would probably regard 
the locked gates and the factory high fences 
in much the same way that it regards the 
wearing of livery. 

On the other hand, there has been little 
in the West and South of that development 
of benevolent paternalism, expressed in what 
is called welfare work among factory hands, 
that is common in Rhode Island. Many of 
the larger manufacturing companies, in wool- 
lens, cotton, and metals, have gone far be- 
yond the letter of the State's requirements 
in providing clean and comfortable shops, 



140 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 







Colonel Samuel Pomeroy Colt, president of the Industrial Trust Company and the United States 
Rubber Company, banker, politician, and lawyer, who failed to succeed Mr. Wet- 
more as United States Senator from Rhode Island 



and in assisting their employees to broaden 
and brighten their social life. Perhaps one 
of the chief factors in the success of Rhode 
Island's manufactures, aside from the in- 
ventive and constructive genius of the men 
that built them up, has been the employ- 
ers' intelligent recognition of the fact that 



the most profitable employee is a con- 
tented one. Doubtless this general policy 
explains, also, the tendency of the most in- 
telligent mechanics coming here from 
abroad to seek employment in Rhode 
Island. 

Wages in the factories of Rhode Island 



WHAT 'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND ? 141 



compare favorably with those in like lines 
in the rest of New England. They are not 
high, as compared with wages in the West, 
but the West has few cotton or woollen 
mills, and none comparable in size with 
those of New England. As for the cotton- 
mills in the South, labor conditions there 
are far worse than in New England, as a 
rule. 



the wage-earners quite as much as upon the 
accumulated surplus of the mill and factory 
proprietors. 

There has been in Rhode Island even 
more than in other States a marked tend- 
ency toward concentration of industries. 
The rubber trade is controlled by the 
United States Rubber Company, the trust; 
woollen and cotton manufacturing is chiefly 




City Hall, Providence (on the right), where a public business of seven millions a year is transacted, 
as against two millions done at the State-house 



The State Is Very Prosperous 

Considered as a whole, the manufac- 
tures of Rhode Island show a slow but 
constant tendency toward the reduction 
of hours of labor and increased wages. 
The State is highly prosperous, especially 
at the top. It has developed a very large 
number of huge private fortunes, and its 
wage-earners hold in the aggregate a very 
large amount of savings. Indeed, it may 
truthfully be said that the three great trust 
companies that dominate Rhode Island's 
financial affairs — the Industrial, the Union, 
and the Rhode Island Hospital trusts — 
have been built upon the small savings of 



in the hands of a few families and corpora- 
tions; some of these proprietors own anc| 
operate many mills in other New England 
States. For example, Robert Knight, the 
largest individual owner of cotton-mills 
in the world, controls over twenty estab- 
lishments, — many in Rhode Island, some 
in Massachusetts. But this centralizing 
tendency has not suppressed individual 
initiative operating on a small scale. It 
may have diverted it from the industries 
centralized, but the fact that Rhode Island 
has so large a number of small factories 
of various kinds proves that her people 
have a high degree of commercial adapta- 
bility, and tends to disprove the theory 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 143 




Rhode Island's new State Armory, at Providence 



that the trusts must rapidly abolish the 
middle class of independent small manu- 
facturers and traders. That result may 
come in time, but it is not yet in sight, in 
Rhode Island. 

Excepting the scattered mills and facto- 
ries along the rivers, noted above in the 
comment upon the country towns, Rhode 
Island's manufactures are highly concen- 
trated in a few cities. Broadly speaking, 
Greater Providence includes the thriving 
cities of Pawtucket and Woonsocket, and 
with these and other near-by manufac- 
turing centres comprises a large majority 
of the manufactures and the population of 
the State. 

The "Summer Social Capital" of 
America 

Newport, the other considerable city of 
the State, situated on the inner shore of 
the island of Rhode Island, is the seat of 
the richest seaside colony in America. 
The old town, once a busy centre of com- 
merce with the far East, and still later a 
great slave mart, has long since ceased to 



figure in the State's industrial statistics. 
Huge and sometimes beautiful palaces 
built by the wealthy families of New York, 
and occupied by them during the summer 
season, form a social centre that is some- 
times referred to as the summer social 
capital of the United States. At any rate, 
it supplies most of that palpitating society 
gossip with which the newspapers are wont 
to entertain wide-eyed readers of the less 
affluent classes. The narrow streets, the 
statues of the Perrys, and the historical 
buildings clothe the older portion of the 
town in a romantic atmosphere of bygone 
times. This mood in the casual traveller's 
mind is likely to be rudely jarred by the 
sudden apparition of a splendid carriage 
with three gorgeously liveried flunkies 
perched upon it, or by the passing of a 
group of brisk and gay young blue-shirted 
soldiers from one of the near-by forts. 

The single railway-station at Newport 
is a marvel of decrepitude and dirt. It is 
matched only by the ancient and unspeak- 
ably dirty, dusty passenger-cars that are run 
between Newport and Boston. The only 
inference the stranger can draw from this 



144 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




The Cathedral at Providence 



railway service into " America's summer 
social capital" is that the rich come in 
automobiles arid private yachts and the 
rest don't count with the railroad. At this 
point it may be set down as a general ob- 
servation that the railroad-passenger service 
in old, rich, and thickly settled New Eng- 
land is as a whole decidedly inferior in 
quality to that of the better Western rail- 
roads. There is still some^show of com- 



petition in the Middle West. Even though 
one group of New York financiers may 
control several roads in a given territory, 
the active managers of these roads have an 
incentive to competition in the desire to 
excel each other in the amount of business 
done. This active rivalry for business may 
obtain between divisions of the great system 
which controls southern New England, but 
it does not show in sumptuous equipment. 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 145 




Marsden Jasiel Perry, born poor, of pioneer parents, is president of the Union Trust Company, 

organizing genius of Rhode Island public-service corporations, and owner of the Central 

Railway of Georgia jointly with Oakley Thorn, of New York. He never held a 

political office, but has been mentioned for United States Senator. He 

has the finest collection of Shakespeariana in America 



The State's Leading Industries 

The principal industry of Rhode Island, 

in the number of people employed and the 

alue of product, is the manufacture of 



woollen goods. The woollen-mills, inclu- 
ding those which make worsteds, employed, 
according to the last census bulletin, 19,399 
people, of whom 9,582 were listed as "men 
over sixteen years old;" 7,984, as "women 



146 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Statue to Roger Williams, founder of Rhode Island, in Roger Williams Park, Providence 



over sixteen years;" and 1,833 as children 
under sixteen years. The capital invested 
was nearly $47,000,000; the number of es- 
tablishments, thirty-two; the wages, nearly 
ten millions; the value of products, a little 
above $52,500,000. Cotton manufacturing 
runs a close second to woollens. The value 
of cotton-mill products in the same year was 
over $30,000,000, and the wages nearly eight 



millions. Foundry and machine-shop prod-ll 
ucts rank third in the list, with 9,294] 
employees, and an annual output worth j 
nearly $16,500,000. Providence is the chief j 
centre of the jewelry trade of the United) 
States. With Attleboro, the near-by city in 
Massachusetts, it produces more jewelry 
than any other section of the country. The 
6,475 workers employed in the jewelry | 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 147 



trade of Rhode Island in 1905, the latest 
-ear for which figures are obtainable, 
arned $3,181,597 in wages and turned 
mt a product worth $14,431,756. The 
ndustry of dyeing and finishing textiles is 
>f almost equal prominence, the value of 
ts product reaching close to ten millions 
>n an invested capital of something less 
han seventeen millions. It employed 
',562 hands. The total of the State's 
vage-earners in manufactures of all kinds 
vas 98,813, with a total product valued at 
184,074,378. It is estimated that there has 
been a gain of at least five per cent in both 
tgures since the census was taken. 

II 

Corruption in Politics 

Accepting the theory that bad news 
ravels much faster than good news, we 
re able to understand how the country at 
irge has heard more about Rhode Island's 
olitical corruption than about her re- 
larkable industrial achievements. 
It is probable — I have not studied the 
olitical systems of all the States — that 
hode Island has the most inequitable 
olitical system of any Northern common- 
ealth. The student of conditions in New 
[ampshire might suppose that State had 
cached the limit of subserviency to cor- 
orate rule of public affairs ; but in Rhode 
;land he would learn of yet further Te- 
nements of the game of politics as it is 
layed by the big corporations. Good 
hode Islanders declare that Connecticut 
the true "limit." However that may be, 
ittle Rhody is bad enough. 
The political bosses of Rhode Island 
jive even refined the art of bribery in 
jections. Crude amateurs in other States 
?ink they have done something worth 
I i'agging about when they win an election 
I jith purchased votes. In Rhode Island 
! Ihen it is doubted whether enough votes 
ILn be bought to insure a desired result, 
le buyers finish the job by hiring mem- 
in Irs of the opposition party to stay away 
mbm the polls. A bought vote, one that 
4|ould otherwise have been cast against 
hit: I |>ur candidate, counts two rjoints for your 
its Jan. Hiring a member of the opposition 
viljpt to vote at all counts only one point for 
M |ur man. I was assured that there are a 
Tl(||)od many voters who would scorn an 
elf jfer of money to sell their votes, but whose 



consciences permit them to take money 
for staying away from the polls. The 
positive sin they will not commit; the 
negative sin they do not balk at. In the 
country towns a considerable minority of 
the citizens have come to feel that some 
one ought to pay them for the time they 
lose in going to the polls. They regard 
voting, not as a precious and sacred privi- 
lege, but as a public service for which they 
are justly entitled to payment from some 
source. 

I have encountered this curiously per- 
verted idea in various parts of New Eng- 
land. It obtains also in Chicago, in New 
York City, in most of the larger cities, to 
some extent; but in the rural West it has 
not yet taken root. The theory that re- 
cent immigrants brought this conception 
of the suffrage over with them, wickedly 
corrupting the natives, will not hold water. 
The buying of votes has been a source of 
scandal in Rhode Island for more than a 
hundred and fifty years. The late-comers 
are those who have suffered from contact 
with this idea. When they come into a 
new land, they naturally accept its cus- 
toms to some extent, both the good and 
the bad. Indeed, in Rhode Island it is 
notorious that the most flagrant bribery, 
the most utterly treasonable disregard of 
the citizen's duty to the State, takes place 
in the country towns, where the percentage 
of so-called native stock is very much 
higher than it is in the cities. 

How the State Has Been "For Sale" 

Lincoln Steffens two years ago dubbed 
Rhode Island "A State for sale." That 
was probably true, in respect of the offi- 
cial machinery of the State. You could 
not have gone up to the State-house and 
bought a piece of legislation from the 
members direct; but you could, it is gen- 
erally believed, have got your bill passed 
if you dealt first with General Charles R. 
Brayton, the king of the lobby enthroned 
in the office of the high sheriff. You could 
not have bought the influence of Governor 
Utter, but you would have had no need to 
buy it, since the Governor has no veto 
power, and the Legislature did General 
Brayton's bidding. 

It is of course absurd to say that any 
one could buy a majority of the voters, 



148 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




The Sarah Swan Whiting memorial window in Trinity Church, Newport 



in Rhode Island or in any other State. 
Every man may have his price, but no man 
or corporation has every man's price. In 
order to get around this dead wall, poli- 
ticians frequently so arrange the political 
machinery of a State that a small amount 
of bribery will give them control. In 
Rhode Island the State Senate is the bul- 
wark of the corruptionists, and represen- 



tation in the lower House is also far froi 
equitable. Each town and city in tb 
State — thirty-eight in all — is entitled t 
one State senator. Providence, which ca:| 
more than 23,000 votes in the last corj 
gressional elections, has one senator. S<| 
too, has Little Compton, which cast 13 
votes; and Jamestown, which cast 17c 
In a word, the four cities, — Providena 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 149 




General William Ames, brevetted a brigadier for Civil- War services, president and treasurer of the 

Fletcher Manufacturing Company, trustee of the Rhode Island Hospital Trust Company, 

and a man of whom it is said: "He can have any political office within 

Rhode Island's gift for the asking." 



Pawtucket, Newport, and Woonsocket, — 
which cast 38,033 votes in the last con- 
gressional elections, have four members of 
ithe State Senate, and the thirty-four smaller 
'cities and towns, which cast a total of 
27,476 votes at the same election, have 
(thirty-four members of the State Senate. 1 _, 



Where this condition prevails it is ob- 
viously easy for a corrupt boss, supported 
by greedy or cowardly corporations, to 
control the State. He has no need to win 
a majority of the voters of the State to 
keep his party in power. He need only 
make sure that his legislative candidates 



i5o 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




A glimpse through the gates at "The Breakers," a Vanderbilt palace at Newport 



are chosen in a majority of the small towns, 
where but a few votes are cast, and the 
trick is done. In Rhode Island the boss 
found ready to his hands a condition ad- 
mirably suited for his uses. When Gen- 
eral Brayton set up business as a lobbyist 
thirty years ago he found the country 
towns dwindling and impoverished ag- 
riculturally. He found them inhabited 
chiefly by descendants of the early set- 
tlers of the State, jealous of the growing 
population and influence of the cities 
which were rapidly filling up with later 
immigrants. Plainly it was in the interest 
of General Brayton, and of his clients, the 
corporations that might need special privi- 
leges, to maintain this condition. They 
have managed to maintain it, but the signs 
of this day are adverse to them. 

Some Signs of Improvement 

In the first place, Senator Nelson W. 
Aldrich, the brains of the Rhode Island 
Republican machine, has "made his pile," 
as the phrase goes, and has accordingly 
lost his most active personal interest in 



the fight. True, he is still most useful to 
his allies in the United States Senate, and 
he has shown no disposition to retire from 
office; but he more and more leaves the! 
heat of the battle to others. Once in six! 
years, near the expiration of his own term,! 
he comes to Rhode Island and takes per- 
sonal command of the forces. As Gover- 
nor Higgins, in terms bitterly contemptu- 
ous, said to me, "The chairman of the Fi-| 
nance Committee of the United States Sen- 
ate, the most august legislative body on 
earth, comes home once in six years and 
does not hesitate to sit in a low groggery 
and deal with political crooks and rum- 
sellers to insure his own reelection." 

In the second place, a considerable mi- 
nority of the Republicans of Rhode Island 
have united with the Democrats in a cam- 
paign to drive bribe-givers and bribe-takers 
out of politics. The fusionists nominated 
Robert H. I. Goddard, one of the mill J 
millionaires of the State, a fellow of Brown 
University, a soldier of the Civil War with I 
a fine record, and a man of ability, forj 
United States senator to succeed Mr. Wet- 
more of Newport. Mr. Wetmore was again | 



WHAT 'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND ? 151 




Cliff walk and palaces of New York millionaires at Newport 



a candidate, and Colonel Samuel P. Colt, 
the president of the United States Rubber 
Company, was a third aspirant. Colonel 
Goddard led throughout the balloting in 
the legislative session of 1907, but could not 
obtain a majority. His friends say that "if 
he had been willing to buy votes, he could 
have won in a walk." Colonel Colt had the 
support of General Brayton and his in- 
fluences, and was preferred also by Sen- 
ator Aldrich, though the latter uttered no 
word publicly one way or the other. Mr. 
Wetmore, the candidate with the smallest 
following, had votes enough, if he could 
have transferred them to either of his op- 
ponents, to insure an election. The ses- 
sion ended in a deadlock. In June Colo- 
nel Colt announced his withdrawal from 
the race. His supporters, like Mr. Wet- 
more's, being stalwart Republicans, would 
not vote for Colonel Goddard, because 
of his affiliation with the Democrats. The 
issue will be fought out at the polls in Oc- 
tober. The adherents of Colonel God- 
dard hope to capture a majority of the 
Legislature on joint ballot. They have no 
chance to get a majority in the State Sen- 



ate, but they might conceivably obtain a 
sufficient majority in the House to over- 
come the Republican Senate majority on 
joint ballot. 

Reformers Control "the Rhode Island 
Bible" 

1 In the third place, the Providence Jour- 
nal, "the Rhode Island Bible," with its 
evening edition, the Bulletin, has come 
under the control of men who refuse to 
sanction or to remain silent upon those 
corrupt practices that have character- 
ized Republican rule in the State for many 
years past. One prominent Republican 
of the faction now opposed by the Journal 
told me, a bit gloomily, that "as goes the 
Journal, so goes Rhode Island." His 
feelings seemed to be about equally domi- 
nated by pride in the Journal as an insti- 
tution and grief for its going astray. 

The Metcalfs and other minority stock- 
holders in the Journal, believing that its 
subserviency to ring politicians of the worst 
sort would finally wreck its influence, 
united to get control, and brought the paper 



152 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



back into the course where it gained its 
wealth and power. Under the shrewd and 
clean editorship of Frederick Roy Martin, 
a Cambridge and Harvard product, assisted 
by John R. Rathom, one of the ablest news- 
paper men the West has produced in many 
years, as managing editor, the Journal is 
conducting a strong and aggressive cam- 
paign for political decency in Rhode Is- 
land. Its editors do not join the demand 
of the more radical Democrats for a con- 
vention thoroughly to revise the Consti- 
tution of the State. They are sufficiently 
conservative to urge the taking of one step 
at a time. The Journal does advise amend- 
ments giving the Governor the power of 
veto and granting a larger measure of leg- 
islative representation to the cities. Mean- 
time, the Journal is supporting the sena- 
torial candidacy of Colonel Goddard, as 
against Mr. Wetmore or any other man 
whom the old Republican ring may name. 
The Journal, more than any other factor, 
drove Colonel Colt out of the race. How- 
ever others may regard it, this is an achieve- 
ment upon which the Journal's new direc- 
tors freely felicitate themselves — and Rhode 
Island. 

More than one prominent Republican 
favored me with his opinion that unless his 
party shall nominate a candidate known 
to be proof against bribe-giving, and other- 
wise of the highest type, the State is pretty 
certain to choose a legislative majority favor- 
able to the election of Colonel Goddard. 

Prospective Constitutional Amendments 

Even more important than the men 
concerned is the movement for two amend- 
ments to the State Constitution. Gov- 
ernor Higgins, following the lead of Gov- 
ernors Utter and Garvin, strongly urges an 
amendment making the Governor a real 
executive. He believes the Governor of 
Rhode Island should have the power of 
veto and the power of appointment which 
now lodges in the Senate. He told me that 
his vetoless condition was shared only by 
the Governor of South Carolina. It is an 
interesting and perhaps not unsignificant 
coincidence that Rhode Island and South 
Carolina, from the beginning of the Union, 
were most jealous of State's rights and held 
on longest to the profitable trade in negro 
slaves. 



The second constitutional amendment 
sought in Rhode Island aims to correct 
existing inequalities in legislative represen- 
tation. We have seen how the basis of 
senatorial representation lodges an over- 
whelming majority of that body in the 
hands of a small minority of the people. 
There are seventy-two members of the 
lower House, and the number that Prov- 
idence may elect, irrespective of popula- 
tion, is one-sixth of the whole. When you 
remember that Providence has five-twelfths 
of the State's inhabitants you perceive 
the injustice of that limitation. 

There is a feeling in the State, too, that 
the qualifications for the suffrage ought to 
be revised. All registered electors can vote 
for state and national officers, but in city 
and town elections property qualifications 
reduce the number of the voters. In the 
towns this qualification covers real estate, 
and the would-be voter must hold at least 
$200 worth of it or he cannot vote on town 
business. In the cities the voter must 
have personal property worth $134 in order 
to vote for city officers. The assessments 
of these voters are made by a Board of 
Assessors chosen by the City Council in 
each instance. Whether true or not, it is 
commonly charged that the assessors in 
some of the cities use their power to pack 
the voting-lists with known supporters of 
their party. It is said that they frequently 
neglect to include in the voting-list the 
names of qualified voters not of their 
party. The door is obviously open to 
trickery of this character, and the general 
tone of Rhode Island politics is not so high 
as to deprive the charge of all right to con- 
sideration. 

Masters Versus Workmen 

Very naturally, so far as they show any 
interest in the subject at all, the working 
people of the State favor manhood suffrage 
without property qualification of any sort. 
On the other hand, the masters of the 
State's politics, the mill millionaires, have 
a sound reason, from their point of view, 
for opposing any extension of the suffrage. 
And they have an equally sound reason, 
as they see it, for opposing any change in 
the basis of legislative representation. In 
the cities, where they are the chief prop- 
erty-owners, they are loath to see any step 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 153 



made that would weaken their control 
upon the expenditure of money taken in 
taxes. In the Legislature, they fear noth- 
ing else quite as much as hostile labor leg- 
islation. While the balance of legislative 
power remains in the country towns, and 
is beyond the reach of the working people 
of the cities, the large manufacturers can 
reasonably hope to defeat any legislation 
in the interest of the workers and at the 
expense of the employers. The President's 
recommendation of a national employers' 
liability law that should work automatic- 
ally, making the employer responsible for 
his employee's injuries, however caused, 
would get about one vote out of a hundred 
if submitted to the manufacturers of Rhode 
Island for approval. It goes without say- 
ing that a Legislature chosen by work- 
ing men and acting in the interests of the 
working men as a group, might be expected 
to enact such a law as the President rec- 
ommended. 

The Secret of Aldrich's Strength 

Another possibility which the manufac- 
turers, or most of them, regard with dread 
is that Rhode Island may, by going Demo- 
cratic in State elections, give the nation 
the impression that she desires tariff 
revision; for Rhode Island is a high-tariff 
stronghold. Most of the men that have 
built up her great industries — there are a 
few exceptions — firmly believe that the 
success of these industries rests upon the 
protective-tariff system. A curious illus- 
tration of the way they put this factor 
above all others in considering politics is 
their attitude toward Senator Aldrich. 
Republicans, Independents, and Demo- 
crats alike assured me that the senator is 
"the most selfish man that ever drew the 
breath of life;" that they heartily dis- 
approve his making use of such men as 
General Brayton to perpetuate himself 
in office; and that they resent his con- 
temptuous treatment of his constituents, 
personally. 

"Then why," I asked, "do you keep 
him in office?" 

"Because," one man replied, and he 
voiced the sentiment of the others, "we 
can't get along without him, dash blank 
him." 

Senator Aldrich, it is said, has been 



singularly inconsiderate of Rhode Is- 
landers at Washington. This was so much 
the case that it became the fashion in cer- 
tain circles to say, "Rhode Island has but 
one senator — Wetmore." The Newport 
senator was always studiously careful to 
respond to every communication from his 
people, however unimportant — a course 
in marked contrast with that of his lordly 
senatorial associate. Notwithstanding this, 
however, and notwithstanding the well- 
known fact that Senator Aldrich has been 
only secondarily Rhode Island's repre- 
sentative, giving his first thought to the 
great New York financial interests, headed 
by the Standard Oil Company, whose es- 
pecial senatorial champion he has been 
for many years, the business interests of 
the State have felt that his commanding 
authority in respect to tariffs made him 
far the most valuable man the State could 
send to the Senate. And so they have 
cursed him for his manners and elected 
him for his ability, and seem likely to con- 
tinue doing so for a long time to come, or as 
long as he wishes to hold office. 

Senator Aldrich, like former Governor 
Odell of New York, was a grocer when he 
entered politics. But he was something 
else that Mr. Odell was not; namely, a 
cold-blooded, iron-willed master of men. 
He kept on growing past the point where 
Odell's limitations brought him back to 
the earth with a dull thud. Mr. Aldrich 
is credited with having gained a million 
dollars in the reorganization of the Rhode 
Island street-railways in 1892. That trans- 
action also laid the foundation for the great 
fortune of Marsden J. Perry, who, with Mr. 
Roelker and five other men that could look 
further ahead than the average, shared the 
profits of the street-railway reorganization. 
The deal was a blend of political special 
favors, watered stock, and ultimate mon- 
opoly, but it gave Rhode Island cities a 
tremendous benefit in a system of street- 
railway and interurban electric transporta- 
tion immeasurably superior to that which it 
replaced; and so possibly the promoters 
were not extravagantly paid for the brains 
and energy they put into it. 

The men who formed the Rhode Island 
Company, that monopolized practically 
all of the trolley-lines of Rhode Island, 
have since sold out the property to the 
New York, New Haven & Hartford Rail- 



154 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



road. The New Haven is dictator of Con- 
necticut politics, and master at pleasure 
of Connecticut industry in its relations with 
transportation. 

Reform Movement Not of Popular 
Origin 

An interesting feature of the reform 
movement in Rhode Island is the fact that 
it does not originate among the working 
masses of the people. It seems rather to 
be a contest between rival groups of mil- 
lionaires for control of the State's affairs. 
I suggested to Senator Gardner of Prov- 
idence that it was a fight between the clean 
rich and the other sort of rich. He de- 
murred. Mr. Wetmore's supporters, he 
said, were "clean rich," too. He thought 
it likely that at least half of them voted for 
Parker for President in 1904. Against 
Mr. Wetmore nothing worse has been al- 
leged than that he is a New Yorker, and 
that he has made liberal contributions to 
General Brayton's war-bag to insure his 
election as senator; in short, that he played 
the game as he found it. If his opponents 
were defining the position of a man less 
amiable and friendly than Mr. Wetmore, 
they would doubtless say flatly that he 
bought his office. They do not say that, 
but they arrive at the same conclusion in 
much gentler terms. 

The opponents of Colonel Goddard do 
not charge that he is trying to buy the 
senatorship. They admit without question 
that he would scorn to do anything of that 
kind. But they do say that the Democratic 
organization in the State is using him and 
his presumably liberal campaign contri- 
bution for legitimate expenses, as a means 
of gaining control of the State offices. 
They do not explain how a Democratic 
majority in the House could control State 
appointments that are made by the State 
Senate, which will certainly remain reliably 
Republican. 

The Senate is "The State" 

By the way, here is another curious fea- 
ture of the Rhode Island political system. 
The Senate is practically the whole State 
government. The Governor can nomi- 
nate men for the various appointive offices 
under the State government, but in only 



one or two unimportant instances can he 
confer such office without the Senate's 
confirmation. And if the Senate does not 
wish to confirm, it has only to let three 
days pass without taking action on the 
Governor's nominations, when it is free 
to proceed to make the appointments, 
without the consent of either Governor 
or lower House. This is the customary 
course when the Governor is Democratic. 
Rhode Island judges, of the Supreme 
Court and the lower courts, are thus chosen 
by the Senate, and not, as in most other 
States, elected by the people. It is not 
surprising, therefore, to learn that all the 
members of the present Supreme Court, 
and all, or nearly all, of the judges of the 
lower courts, were members of the Legis- 
lature when elevated to the bench. 

In fact, as matters stand, the people of 
Rhode Island — the rank and file — have 
very little control of their State government. 
The forty votes cast for Colonel Goddard 
in the senatorial contest represented more 
than sixty per cent of the voters of the 
State, but they were far from being a ma- 
jority of the Legislature. 

The Boss and the Governors 

Rhode Island politics have brought for- 
ward a number of interesting personalities 
— strongly marked individuals. General 
Charles R. Bray ton, blind giant of sixty- 
seven years, seated in his office on the top 
floor of the ten-story Bannigan Building 
in Providence, alone, received me with 
a curt refusal to talk — then proceeded to 
talk in the most entertaining fashion for 
half an hour. He certainly knows his pe- 
culiar business, and he knows human na- 
ture. If good men in politics possessed 
one-half the tact, the courtesy, the gen- 
uine human sympathy that make the cap- 
ital of men of the Brayton sort, the virtue 
of honesty would be triumphant more 
often than it is. The successful business 
man, especially if he be also a scholar, is 
pretty certain to have lost touch with the 
common run of humanity, and to fail to 
understand its instincts. This the suc- 
cessful boss never does. He wins far more 
men with courtesy than with money, and 
here is a fact that honorable amateurs in 
politics seldom comprehend. 

The men who are asking Rhode Island 




A fanciful grouping of the buildings of Brown University, which crowns a hill just outside 

the commercial centre of Providence, has nine hundred and fifty students, and 

glories in possessing the champion college baseball team of 1907 



i56 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Nelson W. Aldrich, who took the political degrees of city councilman, assemblyman, representative, 

and speaker, and entered the United States Senate in 1881, where his mastery of finance 

and his Wall Street backing have made him the Republican leader 



to repudiate Brayton and Braytonism, lack 
something of a complete understanding of 
the mental processes of the common man, 
the working man. They call Brayton "Rob 
Roy," forgetting that Rob Roy was the 
most popular man in his county, who 
robbed the rich to share with the poor — 



popular because his faults were the faults 
of most men, and linked him to them in a 
bond of fellowship. The humble bard who 
wrote of Robert Burns, "We love him for 
his human faults," put his finger upon one 
of the most powerful impulses of the human 
heart. 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 157 




William H. P. Faunce, President of Brown University, graduated from Brown in 1880, served 

ten years as pastor of Rockefeller's church in New York, and came 

to Brown as president in 1889 



Governor Higgins, a young lawyer, seems 
to me a man exceedingly likely to win pop- 
ular favor. The Governor, like his predeces- 
sor, Mr. Utter, is both clean and human. 
Both men resented General Brayton's pres- 
ence _in the Statehouse. Governor Utter, 
realizing that he had no authority to force 



Brayton's withdrawal from the public office 
where he, a private citizen, sat and ordered 
the course of legislation, said nothing pub- 
licly except in one remarkable platform 
utterance a few days before the last State 
election when it was too late to help him or 
his party. 



i58 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



One morning General Brayton called up 
the Governor on the telephone and asked 
him whom he intended to nominate for a 
certain State office. 

"The floor of the Senate, it seems to me, 
is the place to make that announcement," 
said Governor Utter, and he hung up the 
'phone. 

Mr. Utter is a newspaper publisher. His 
paper, the Westerly Daily Sun, is the only 
daily paper in America that publishes a 
Sunday evening edition. He is a Seventh 
Day Baptist. His paper does not appear 
on Saturday. Westerly is a Seventh Day 
Baptist stronghold. Many of the stores and 
professional offices there close on Saturday 
and are open on Sunday. 

Governor Higgins, of a more sanguine 
temperament than Governor Utter, made a 
sharper attack upon General Brayton. After 
trying vainly to induce the blind boss by 
personal persuasion to leave the capitol, the 
Governor published an open letter assail- 
ing General Brayton in fierce fashion and 
demanding his withdrawal. High Sheriff 
White was coupled with Brayton in the 
Governor's broadside, but both men were 
obdurate, and the boss held his position in 
the high sheriff's office until the session 
closed. 

Governor Higgins 's Letter to the 
Sheriff 

Governor Higgins's letter deserves a 
wider reading than it has yet obtained, for 
its analysis of conditions that prevail in 
many other State capitols beside that of 
Rhode Island. The communication, which 
was addressed to General Hunter C. White, 
sheriff of Providence County, is as follows : 

Sir: On January 26th of this year I had a con- 
ference with the State-house commissioners, in 
which I requested them to instruct you to keep 
Charles R. Brayton out of your office. They stated 
to me that they did not believe their power was 
sufficient under the law to justify them in doing so. 
They referred me to the Legislature and to you. 
They suggested that if I called the matter officially 
to your attention you would probably act. 

I have acted in accordance with their sugges- 
tion. You will recollect that a few weeks ago I 
asked you to come to my office, where I privately 
requested you to remove this disgraceful object 
from your office. In vain have I appealed to you 
in private. I now appeal to you publicly. This 
letter shall be given to the public for the express 
purpose of calling this matter to the attention of 
our citizens. I do more than appeal. In the name 



of the citizens of Rhode Island, I demand that you 
refuse to allow Boss Brayton to use the property of 
Rhode Island for his private pleasure and profit. 
It is a matter of extreme regret to me that the most 
urgent public necessity impels this request. The 
wide publicity which has been given Brayton's 
conduct in this capitol; the impudent manner in 
which he flaunts himself in the teeth of our people 
and before the eyes of our legislators; his shameless 
disregard for the outer forms of public decency, 
as well as for the elementary rules of proper per- 
sonal conduct in this building, require that action 
be taken at once. The people of Rhode Island 
have tolerated Boss Brayton and his brazen arro- 
gance as long as they should. The time has at 
last arrived when patience is no longer a virtue, 
and when in deference to an aroused and indig- 
nant sentiment throughout the State this man 
should be expelled from this capitol. 

To none is his conduct better known than to 
you. Year in and year out he has occupied and 
used your office for his vile purposes with your 
knowledge and consent. He could not have 
appropriated your office without such knowl- 
edge and consent. You know that for thirty 
years this man has been in almost daily attenda nee 
upon the sessions of the Legislature, dispensing 
his orders to certain members with the most im- 
perious despotism. You know that for decades he 
has stood like an ancient brigand at the door of this 
capitol and has clubbed into servility and compli- 
ance with his demands many seekers of legisla- 
tion, public and private franchises. You know 
that for a generation past many citizens have 
openly charged that it was impossible to secure 
proper action on certain matters of legislation 
without first paying tribute to the legislative Rob 
Roy of these Plantations. 

Your office in the Rhode Island State-house 
(Room 207) has been almost invariably the centre 
of his activity. Your office, Room 207, has, in 
other words, been the lobby headquarters of Boss 
Brayton. The situation, therefore, resolves itself 
to this : the State-house of Rhode Island, a build- 
ing paid for by the people of the State, supposed 
to be used exclusively for public and legitimate 
purposes, has been turned over, so far as your 
office has been concerned, to the private and il- 
legitimate use of Boss Brayton. 

It cannot truthfully be said that Brayton comes. 
to your office as a private citizen or as a friend 
If that were so, why is it that he visits you only on 
such days and at such times as the Legislature is 
in session? If he is so extremely solicitous in his 
friendship for you, why is it that he does not visit 
you daily at your office in the Providence County 
court-house ? You alone, sir, are picked out as 
the recipient of a letter of this kind for the reason 
that you are the only one of all the officials occu- 
pying quarters at the State-house who allows those 
quarters to be used for unlawful lobbying. 

I, therefore, again demand of you that this 
thing cease, and cease at once. I demand that 
you decline the use of your office to Boss Brayton. 
This demand is based upon two reasons: first, 
that neither you nor any other public official has 
the right to utilize the public property of the State 
for private or improper purposes. Your room, 
No. 207, has been assigned to you for the conduct 
of the duties of your office, not for rent or sub- 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH RHODE ISLAND? 159 



letting to those who are in the employ of private 
corporations or others seeking to secure or pre- 
vent legislation. What right has Boss Brayton to 
Room 207 ? He holds no public office or commis- 
sion from the people of this State. What right 
have you to turn over to him practically the entire 
possession of that room? Both when you are 
present and when you are absent the boss is in en- 
tire charge and has absolute control of your of- 
fice. He receives his legislative clients and visitors 
there; he stations his emissaries at the door of your 
room, and he, not you, says who shall receive ad- 
mittance to that room. He acts as if he, not you, 
were the one to whom that room is assigned. 
Now I say you have no more right to allow a pri- 
vate individual to take charge of your office and 
carry on private business, especially private busi- 
ness of a most sordid nature, than I have to use 
the* Governor's office for the conduct of my pri- 



your room there. You know further that it is a 
matter of common knowledge that Brayton's scan- 
dalous lobbying has been practically his only busi- 
ness for the past quarter of a century, and that 
although nominally a lawyer, he has never en- 
gaged in the real practice of the profession, but 
has been content to acquire a lucrative existence 
from the fees he has wheedled and whipped out 
of seekers of legislation and of office. 

The boss's continued presence in the capitol 
offers daily scandal to the men, women, and chil- 
dren of the State. Several times a week children 
from various parts of the commonwealth come to 
visit the capitol, and immediately on stepping 
from the elevator are greeted with this unseemly 
spectacle in your room. On February 8 nearly 
two hundred little children from the town of War- 
wick came to visit the State-house. Many of these 
children were introduced to Brayton in your of- 




THE « SUN 



Falr.i&rht yy 



WESTERLY, R. I, SUSDAY KVRNINp,' JUKE 



WASHINGTON 
1 1ST COMPANY 

'aw empowered to act as 

'execdtob, 

TRUSTEE, 

GUARDIAN or AGENT, 
offers its services and facilities . 
ir the transaction of all forms 
Banking and Trust business* 

33 Broad Street, 




to Blonlt Ialao.1 on- 
:tom, Wlw» the Oitf 
bs pat on the line 

nuiM it now at Newport undMoioi 
rypiim. What k to ho clone with the 
Bloolt Inland 1*3 no* balm lemma. 

There ar» on She Blooll Ljlturd 
about tlv -~* officer*! tut Imt year: 
JUtof '"■•Ipt.: pilot * 



SI1SHEDJHS CAB. 

George Baixock of Flaialicl., It. J. 
Hissed Hitting- fiev. S. fl. Davis. 

SS. Mm J.USHTEB mi CAS. 

RMfKr Htm Hit 



t Wdejfr Clem- 



Badly Okflf <"«* Or I 



a escape from sthri- 
V HtKl a in-jsMibJe fatality uc. 
. I » Hill I road K.t'Ur 



alanad ranaf 
'in. it iur«fci 



pjator tit the Westerly 
Bttptiat church and at 
nt the secretary of the Ma*eacha- 
Atwi-SttJooa Loagtw. The day 

at the Ocean" Hooae; ja r n 



fow» wars i 



t Measures from thef eg o 



i B. Ooort Bentley. the oewlv e 
not qoaliaad for Miat [-option t 

thai TSdwua Barber, the former 



looted, in taot, I 






If you wish, to send money' 7 
of the world, if you wish ' 
your child in the habit o 
you wish to keep . a sepV 
Account for your housekeep 
ses— or if there is anythir 
with Banking that you '/ 
the leading Banking Inst 
State of Rhode Island, wi, 
your needs in every way, x * 

Industrial Trust & 

Resources p* 

14 High : 



The Sun, published at Westerly, the only Sunday evening paper in the country 



vate law practice. Unless this be so, then every 
State official who is in any way connected with 
business enterprises of a public character has full 
right to transfer his private offices to the State- 
house. Does Brayton pay rent for Room 207 to 
you or to the State ? 

The second reason for my demand is that you 
have no right to encourage a common nuisance on 
State property. Brayton is unquestionably a com- 
mon nuisance. You know the man's degenerate 
character better than I do. You know that he is 
unfit to hold public office or to be entrusted with 
any honorable duty. You know that the last fed- 
eral office he held was surrendered by him in dis- 
II 1 grace and by compulsion. You know that he 
|| misappropriated the public funds of the United 
[ States while postmaster of the city of Providence. 

ijl You also know the disgraceful scandals attached 
I to his administration of the office of chief of State 
I police. Yet you daily parade him in the State- 
■ j house in the eyes of the public as the master of 



fice, and shook hands with him. A nice spectacle, 
is it not, for the youth of the State to witness ? A 
beautiful example, is n't he, for little boys and 
girls of tender years to gaze upon and look up to 
with youthful admiration ? 

In my conference with the State-house commis- 
sioners on January 26 it was not denied by them 
that Brayton was a paid lobbyist and a disgraceful 
character. One of the commissioners declared 
that he himself had told you on a former occasion 
that you ought not to allow the boss to make his 
headquarters in your office, and that you replied: 
"What can I do? I would not put Brayton out of 
my office for all the positions in the State." In 
other words, you have admitted not only to this 
commissioner, but to others as well, that you were 
under obligations of such a nature to the boss that 
your hands were tied and you would not put him 
out. Now, sir, I am going to ask you what right 
you have to barter away the public property and 
the public honor of this State in the payment of 



i6o 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



your political obligations ? I want to ask you further 
what right have you to prostitute a public office in 
this capitol in compensation for the influence of 
that boss? I want to ask you, further, how long 
you propose to continue this glaring misconduct? 
How much longer are you going to fly in the face 
of public opinion? If you were State Treasurer, 
do you think you would be justified in taking 
money from the treasury in order to pay a political 
debt of yours ? If you were the State Librarian } do 
you think you would be justified in giving away the 
public books belonging to the State to somebody 
who helped you to get into office? That, sir, is 
just what you are now doing, according to your 
own ; statement and your own actions. You are 
turning over to Boss Brayton the public property 
of the State of Rhode Island (namely, the use of 
Room 207) because the boss has "made you po- 
litically." 

It is unnecessary to add that this communica- 
tion is not prompted by personal ill-feeling or mal- 
ice toward either you or Boss Brayton. You un- 
derstand my position thoroughly from the private 
interview we had a short tim,e ago. I regret fur- 
ther that you force me to the disagreeable task of 
telling publicly the disgusting story of this man. 
I had hoped, after our interview, that it would be 
unnecessary for me openly to refer to the miserable 
life and character of Charles R. Brayton. I regret, 
too, that you have not allowed me to look on Bray- 
ton as I had wished, — with respect for his war rec- 
ord and pity for his physical infirmity, — rather 
than with contempt for his thirty years' public in- 
famy. The responsibility, therefore, for this un- 
pleasant task is not on my shoulders. Both you 
and Brayton have had fair warning. I have tried 
in every honorable way I knew to avoid resorting 
to this means, but you would not have it. The 
gauntlet has been thrown down to me by you both 
with a spirit of insolent defiance, but I shall not 
hesitate to pick it up — not in a spirit of pugnacity, 
but with a firm determination that the right of our 
people to have their public places kept for proper 
public uses and free from scandals and nuisances, 
moral, political, and otherwise, shall be vindicated 
once and for all. 

In the name, therefore, of the decent citizen- 
ship of this commonwealth, I demand that you 
clean this moral and political pest out of your of- 
fice. In the name of common, civilized virtue, I 



demand that you no longer persist in allowing a 
part of this capitol to be used as the headquarters 
of a notorious lobbvist. 



The Reply of the Blind Boss 

To which the big blind boss, turning his 
sightless eyes toward the open window 
through which he gets a faint lightening of 
the physical vision, makes answer: "Yes, 
I know they don't like me; but they know 
I don't care a damn." 

It would be hard to find a more striking 
contrast than that of the Governor, a slight 
figure, almost boyish, with his clean, ear- 
nest countenance, and the huge gray bulk 
of the blind boss, alone in his eyrie, his 
face now as expressionless as a gambler's 
mask, now breaking into a smile of kindly 
humor, overlaid with conscious bravado 
and deeply underlaid with a desolate lone- 
liness of the spirit. Here, as always, youth 
will be served. The passing of the boss — 
of this particular boss, at any rate — is 
already taking place as a part of the gen- 
eral regeneration of Rhode Island's pol- 
itics. 

Except in a few of the country towns, 
public education in Rhode Island is main- 
tained at a high standard. The statement 
is made officially that free high-school train- 
ing is provided for all but five per cent 
of the children of the State. 

As a final word, it may be said that aside 
from the need to get her boys and girls out 
of the mills into school, to open up her 
dusty back-country closets, and to obtain a 
first-class harbor at Providence, the most 
pressing business of Rhode Island at this 
time is to get representative government. 




LETTERS OF A WELLESLEY GIRL 



By H. B. ADAMS 




III. GOO 

'Love it am a killin' thing, 

Beauty am a blossom; 
Ef you want yo' finger bit, 

Poke it at a possum." 

— American Classics. 

OU complain of me that I 
have been using a word whose 
sense you fear you cannot 
rightly divine. What is "goo" ? 
you ask. 
Dear old Babbo, with your philological 
craziness! I suppose when you get to 
heaven the first thing you will want to do 
will be to purchase a book of idioms and 
trace out the origin of all the angelic locu- 
tions. I can see you now in your little red 
study, gouging away at your Dante and re- 
joicing over a new and strange idiom even 
as the hen rejoiceth when she hath scratched 
up a worm! Words, words, words! What 
would you do if it were not for these " daugh- 
ters of earth"? How could you manage if 
there were no words? You'd have nothing 
to play with, Daddy! 

Well, I suspect that the most interesting 
thing about this college life to you would be 
its peculiar vocabulary. We have our argot 
| here, as distinct as that of the Quar tier Latin. 



"goo," I should 



you? I feel so proud of it that I should 
prepare a theme upon goo for my English 
Twelve (meaning a certain course in the 
study of English) were it not for fear of 
Miss Harntranft, the instructor therein. 

Miss Harntranft is a typical New Eng- 
lander. I wish you could see her. Brrr! 
but she's a frosty one! Do you know what 
she 'd do if I handed her a composition like 
one of these crazy letters I'm writing you? 
She wouldn't get angry. Oh, no! New 
England never gets angry. She would n't 
smile. Not for six million dollars! She 
would calmly, unruffledly, coolly, but ef- 
fectually, sit on me — figuratively, of course. 
That is the Wellesley teacher's last and cru- 
dest punishment. Like a passionless block 
of real cold ice she simply extinguishes the 
offender. And of all the snuffers-out of 
youthful spirits, Miss Harntranft easily is 
It. 

When her name is mentioned in a crowd 
of girls some one generally starts the chant 
called "My Room-mate," and we all join 
in. Would you like to know the words — 
I can give you no idea of the immense dole- 
fulness of the tune — of the wreath of song 
which we thus lay at the feet of this glacial 
virgin? Here they are: 

"My room-mate is a lizard, 
Cold and clammy is she. 
At night she frets her gizzard 
And champs her teeth in glee. 

Oh! Ah! Oh! 
My room-mate is a lizard, 
Cold and clammy is she!" 

This coldness is just the opposite to goo- 
ishness. You enter Wellesley full of goo 
sentiments; as a Freshman you manifest 
goo quite a good deal ; you gradually lose 
this property as you progress; and if you 
graduate, and take a postgraduate course, 
and finally become one of the Faculty, the 
last drop of goo will have been expressed 
from your soul and you will be a lovely 
hunk of ice, perfect and sparkling as a jewel, 
and as kittenish and affectionate as the 
mummy of Rameses II. 

161 



162 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



But you cannot gather a thousand girls or 
so in one locality without more or less indi- 
cations of goo. Most girls, especially those 
of our years, are bound to love something, 
and as there are no men around here, ex- 
cept a few relics who make fires and shovel 
snow, why, we love each other. Some of 
the most amazing affinities spring up. One 
girl will fall in love with another, write her 
notes, send her flowers, be jealous of her, 
just the same as though it were a real man. 

And what do you think ? There is a girl 
here who has fallen desperately in love with 
me! Oh, it's the most ridiculous thing in 
the world, and yet pathetic, too. She's such 
an impossible sort of a girl ! 

She is a big, raw-boned girl from Illinois, 
with little pig-eyes and rosy cheeks, and 
she talks as if she were about to cry. She* 
reminds me of the Dante folks you made 
me learn about: 

" V'eran gente con occhi tardi e gravi, 
Che parlavan rado, con voci soavi." 

I met her at a reception of some sort and 
was nice to her. Never was kindness so 
usuriously repaid ! Since then she has been 
my "Fido" Achates. I find her waiting at 
the door to walk with me a little way, and 
she insists on carrying all my parcels. I 
asked her up into my room once, and her 
eyes lit up like those of a faithful dog, and 
if she 'd had a tail she would have wagged it. 
She took my arm and helped me up the 
stairs. She took off my jacket. She 
smoothed my hair and patted my cheek. 
And then she just stood and looked at me 
as though she could eat me. Mercy! I 
wanted to open the window and scream for 
help. 

After that she took to sending me flowers. 
One day there 'd be violets, and the next, 
roses. And roses four dollars a dozen, too! 
She would tie little notes in the flowers, ask- 
ing me to wear them, and saying that she 
would be watching to see if her tokens were 
in my hair or at my belt. 

In addition to this she began writing to 
me, long letters, and such letters! The girl 
was a perfect fountain, a living artesian well, 
of goo. She made me so ashamed I did n't 
know what to do. 

Here's what she said in one of her in- 
flammatory effusions: 

"I count it a day lost, sweetheart, when I do not 
see you. From my seat in chapel I watch for you, 



my eyes riveted upon the door. The others come 
in. I see them not. They are a blur. People, 
mere people. Until my Edna comes in. Then it is 
as if the whole room were bathed in light." 

Now, would n't that hold you for awhile, 
Mister Babbo? That's your button-nosed 
daughter that is a-creating of them there 
sentiments! Here's another! 

"Dearest girlie, shepherd soul, how I long for 
you always, always, always! Do you know how I 
feel when I think of you? It is something like 
honey, something like lightning, something like 
blood!" 

Now just put that in your pipe, lieber 
Herr Vater, and smoke it! What do you 
think of that mixture ? 

Another letter she ends thus: 

"O sweet, sweet! What long white hands you 
have ! What deep wild eyes you have ! What dear 
white teeth you have ! " 

Help! help! The bugger-man '11 get you, 
Daddies, if you don't watch out! 

I wrote to her finally and asked her 
please not to send me any more letters, for 
they disturbed me, nor any more flowers, 
for I did not think it right to accept them. 
Next day she captured me on the way to 
the village, and asked a hundred and fifty 
pardons, backwards, forwards, and cross- 
wise, and altogether acted as if she were 
going to throw a fit right there on the board- 
walk, so great was the depth of her fear that 
she had offended me. 

I answered her that I had taken no of- 
fence, but simply thought she should not 
pay me so much attention, as it might 
cause unpleasant criticism. I put on a reg- 
ular Faculty frost, and walked along like an 
icicle on parade. But, goodness me! she 
had caloric enough in her apologies to have 
melted a stalactite, and she would have re- 
duced me to a mere puddle had we not 
fortunately met some girls (they were a 
bunch of girls I hate, too ), and I clung to 
them like a drowning man to a plank. 

Now, in this interview she had promised 
she would never write me another word, 
and I felt reasonably secure. And next 
morning in comes my usual daily envelope 
inscribed with her familiar handwriting. 
"So much for her promise!" I thought,; 
and tore it open to see what excuse she 
could have. But she had kept her word ; i 
she had not written. Oh, no! She had I 
taken a newspaper and cut out single words 



LETTERS OF A WELLESLEY GIRL 



163 



and pasted them on a sheet of paper so as 
to make her sentences! Now, what do you 
think of that ? 

But it would not have been so bad, I 
could have stood the epistolary effusions 
and the flowers and the being followed as 
by a sleuth, if she had only kept her hands 
off me. But she always wanted to sit in my 
lap and kiss me and put her arms around 
me. Ooh ! it made me sick ! 

So one day I flared up and gave her a 
choice specimen of that elegant temper of 
which you are not ignorant, O Catiline. 
I told her never to lay her hands on me 
again, nor to touch me, and if she did so I 'd 
slap her face and never speak to her as long 
as I lived ; and then I boohooed, of course. 
There's a specimen of your child for you, 
Daddies, the pride and stay of your decli- 
ning years! 

Well, it finished her, anyhow, and since 
then she's let me alone, and I go my way 
flowerless, letterless, and hugless — at least 
as to the raw-boned filly from Illinois. 

But I did feel sorry for the poor thing, 
too, Babbo. It's worried me just sloughs. 
(Sloughs is Wellesley argot for a large quan- 
tity.) It makes me feel all crawly when I 
catch sight of her little pig-eyes fixed on me 
with the " eloquence of despair." She must 
feel bad. You know, I think she's the 
kind of a woman whose husband will beat 
her. And the more he beats her the better 
she '11 love him. 

Tell me, O learned Pater, what's the 
matter with love sometimes, that it is so 
disgusting? The Bible commands love, 
and the poets rave over it, and novels crack 
it up so, and yet sometimes when we meet 
it, as above described, it makes us seasick. 
Es ist zum Davonlaufen! When I get mar- 
ried I hope he won't be too awfully fond of 
me. 

So there you have goo — defined and il- 
lustrated! I suppose it's different, though, 
when you're both fond of each other. For 
I feel you 've never loved me enough, Babbo ; 
and if you were here now I'd pull your 
whiskers till you hated me, and then hug 
you to death. 

The next time you write in German, 
please don't use that odious German scrip. 
It looks like fried tripe and is about as un- 
decipherable. 

Sloughs of love from your idiotic 

Child. 



IV. 
SYBIL'S FATHER 

" Oh, keep your eye upon me, 
And careful note my face; 
I'm a hustler from the West and 
I ain't Eastern-like and blase. 

"I pronounce my French accordin' 
To the way it looks to me; 
And I don't bear down so hard as some 
Upon the final e." 

— Legend 0} the Trusts. 

We are all taking deep breathing to-day, 
trying to make the most of the vast quanti- 
ties of ozone in the air, said 'ozone being 
left here by a middle-aged cyclone from 
Chicago, named Perkins, father of Sybil 
Perkins. Sybil is a quiet sort of a girl, who 
reads Christian Science books because her 
mother wants her to, and wears extravagant 
underclothes because her father insists. 
She's very nice and most unobtrusive. How 
she can be the daughter of such a sixty-mile- 
an-hour steady gale as J. Perkins, Title and 
Trust Building, 100 Washington Street, 
Eighteenth Floor (I here have his card — in 
fact, few here have not his card), I cannot 
imagine. 

Sybil said to me Wednesday: 

"Papa telegraphed me he was coming 
to-day. Don't you want to go down to the 
station with me to meet him?" 

I said I did. We picked up Belle at the 
door, and walked to the station. It's a good 
mile or so, you know, for Wellesley is as big 
as all outdoors, and whether you get any- 
thing in your head or not you're bound to 
develop pretty strong legs, for everybody 
walks and everybody walks fast. All the 
girls go bareheaded, too. It's a tremen- 
dous relief to be rid of the mental strain of 
selecting head-gear, and any one that is not 
bald-headed is always ready dressed to go 
out. 

Speaking of walking to the station, did 
you notice, as you went by on the train, that 
long board-walk that winds, like a ligneous 
joint-snake, through the grounds and to 
the gate? Well, two observations anent 
that: (1) it is the hottest walk on hot days 
and the coldest on cold days in these United 
States ; (2) nobody ever saw it (during school 
term) when there were not on it from one to 
a dozen girls. It's never deserted. It's a 
vein along which red or white or blue fem- 
inine corpuscles are ever creeping. g| 



164 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



The train came snorting in, as we three 
stood there on the platform, arm-in-arm. 
Two women climbed out. Then came a 
gray-haired gentleman clad in a stylish 
light-gray suit, with a satin-lined overcoat 
on his arm and a suit-case in his other hand. 
He said a pleasant good-by to the brake- 
man and shook hands with the conductor 
and bade them take care of themselves and 
write often. 

"Tell your Mr. Boston and Albany," he 
shouted to the grinning trainmen, "that 
they've got the bummest rollin'-stock this 
side o' the Pawnee, Illinois, Short Line. 
Would n't carry cattle in cars like them out 
West. Rotten! Simply rotten! Now good- 
by, sweethearts. And don't run off the 
track. I'd hate to have those Oriental 
divans o' cheap plush and dirty pine hurt. 
Ta-ta!" 

He waved a salute at the departing train, 
and then, turning, saw us. 

"Well, well, well, well, well! There's my 
girl! Come here and tell your dad you're 
glad to see him, you little liar. You won't 
mean a word of it. All you want's my 
money. But I like to hear it, just the 
same." 

He kissed Sybil, and she presented us to 
him as her friends. 

"Friends of Sybil, eh? Then, b' gum 
you're my daughters — adopted, adopted 
right now," and before we knew what was 
going to happen he had kissed us both. 
"Elegant — elegant," he rattled on. "Lord, 
bul I do love to kiss the girls! How many 
you got here, Sybil? Eleven hundred? 
Well, wake up, J. P., wake up! You've got 
your work cut out for you. Gee! Eleven 
hundred! But I'll make good. Yes, sir, 
I'll make good. — Say, that don't include 
the Faculty, does it? I draw the line at 
about forty. 

"How do you get to your blame school? 
Take one of these carriages? Carriages! 
Ha! Well, let's see. How many are there 
of us?" 

There was a crowd of girls standing 
around looking on with an amused expres- 
sion. 

"These all college girls? Sure! Come 
right along! We'll all go up." 

The hackmen were standing each by his 
carriage. The porter asked him which car- 
riage he wished. 

"Which? Want 'em all. All of 'em. 



Every one. Come on, girls. Me and Prince 
Henry never travel except in a procession. 
Pile in. Pile in." 

He made the girls all get in and away we 
went, four hacks full, down the road. He 
sat by me, and never ceased talking. 

"Now you must show me the points of 
interest," he said. "What's that? Oh, 
Congregational Church, eh? 'Commoda- 
tion Church, we call it out West. — Ah! 
there 's a lovely graveyard — nice, quiet 
spot, right on the main street. There is the 
Yankee for you — don't want to be lyin' 
back in any cool, sequestered vale — nay, 
nay, Pauline — wants to be right where 
things are goin' on. That's the stuff. En- 
terprisin' even in death. 

"Wait! Ho, there! Stop, driver. Ladies 
and gentlemen," he continued, as the driver 
pulled up in front of a little Italian fruit and 
confectionery stand, "this looks to me like 
the real thing. Ho, there! Stop, all of you," 
and he made the other three vehicles stop. 

He leaped out and accosted the shop- 
keeper. "Hello, there, friend Leonardo da 
Vinchy. Comey sta ? Sta baney ? Want a 
whole lot of fruiterino and candy. Limber 
up, now! Lively! Give us that box of 
oranges. — How many? The whole box. 
— What do you take me for? Do I look 
like I wanted to buy a small-sized gum- 
drop ? Give us the whole box. — Got any 
nice chocolates ? — What ? Lowney's ? Got 
any Allegrettis ? — Pshaw ! Allegrettis are 
the only real stuff — made in Chicago. 
Well, I suppose Lowney's will do. How 
many boxes have you got ? — Sixteen 
pounds? — Good! I'll take 'em." 

He loaded a box of oranges in one hack 
and piled into the others packages of choc- 
olates and all sorts of confectionery. 

"When J. Perkins heaves in," he con- 
tinued, as he resumed his seat beside me, 
and the procession moved on, "every- 
body's goin' to have a good time. What 
girls need is candy and stuff. They prob- 
ably feed you on skim milk and oatmeal 
here, but it takes chocolate-drops to make 
good red blood. Never had enough candy 
when I was a boy. By gum, I used to wish 
Lake Michigan was all chocolate caramels 
and I was shipwrecked in the middle of it 
and had to eat my way out. 

"Ah! what's that? The Astronomy 
Building, eh? That's where you look at 
the man in the moon, I suppose. Only man 



LETTERS OF A WELLESLEY GIRL 



165 



you see around here, huh? Pretty, ain't 
it? Not much shakes, though. You could 
get four of 'em that size into our Yerkes 
telescope at Chicago. 

"Say, this is an elegant place; just like a 
park, ain't it? All you need is a Dutch 
band a-playin', and a lot of cheap-skate 
North-siders layin' around under the trees, 
and vou'd think you was in Lincoln 
Park.' 

"That's the heatin'-plant, eh? Huh — 
given by Rockefeller, you say? Tainted 
money! Ah, John, John, you will ruin us 
yet with your colleges and churches and 
things ! Why did n't you spend it on beer ? 
Then there 'd have been no complaint. 

" Say, did you hear the doxology they sing 
out to the Chicago University? 

"'Praise John, from whom oil blessings flow'?" 

We halted before the entrance of College 
Hall. 

"Here," he said to the drivers, "take 
these girls to their respective abodes. — No, 
no, girls. Keep the candy. Divide it among 
you. In memory of J. Perkins. Fondest 
love. — You," to our own driver, "had 
better wait here. Don't suppose they'll al- 
low a male man here for long, so I may 
want you. I may need help, too. No know- . 
in'. When I whistle three times loud you 
run in and rescue me. I may get gay in 
this here harem and they may sic the dogs 
on me. So long, brother. Here's five dol- 
lars. Divide it up amongst you." 

We entered. He shook hands cordially 
with the two servants at the door and asked 
them if they did n't think it looked like rain. 
Then we went into the reception-room. 

Now, Sybil," he said, "approach her 
royal nibs that bosses this ranch, present 
the compliments of J. Perkins, and tell how 
he wants permission to go and see his 
daughter's room — peaceably if possible, 
forcibly if necessary." 

The maid has gone to ask Miss Pen- 
dleton if she will see you, Papa," replied 
Sybil. 

Good! Bring her in. Miss Pendleton, 
huh ? She 's It here, is she ? I want to see 
the one who 's It. Never like to talk with a 
hired hand. Always want to go right to the 
^eadquarters. See a railroad president and 
he treats you like a gentleman; see a forty- 

ollar clerk and he treats you like he was 
he Akoond of Swat. 



"Ah, Miss Pendleton! Glad to see you. 
De-lighted, as our president says." He held 
on to her hand until she was visibly em- 
barrassed. "You know, Miss Pendleton, 
I like to grasp the real hand of power. From 
what my daughter writes me I infer that 
you've got 'em all to rights here, and I am 
sure glad to see you. Any time you're in 
Chicago, if you'll drop around to the Title 
and Trust Building, I'll see that you have 
a good time. — Now, if it ain't breakin' the 
rules here — don't want to upset the disci- 
pline, you understand — me for law and 
order every time — don't want to ask any 
favors, you know, but I'd like to see my 
daughter's room." 

"Why, certainly, Mr. Perkins. Sybil will 
be pleased to show you her room." 

He turned to us with an air of triumph. 
"What did I tell you? Simple twist of the 
wrist. All easy enough when you get right 
at headquarters. Now, if I'd asked one of 
those girls with white caps on out there in 
the hall, I'd been standing out in the wet 
till evening. 

"Thank you, Miss Pendleton. Any time 
you want a new building, wire me. Lots o' 
tainted money lyin' around Chicago, and 
no trouble to get it if you're on." He went 
away with Sybil, and we could hear him 
talking all the way down the hall. 

Well, J. Perkins stayed two days in the 
village and everybody knew it. He crashed 
through college regulations like a bull in a 
china-shop. He walked through the dor- 
mitories and chatted with girls and teach- 
ers alike with consummate naivete. He 
visited the chapter-houses and wrote his 
name in tremendous chirography on all the 
registers. He called on the president, and 
she invited him and Sybil to dinner. 

He got permission to take a few girls into 
Boston to the theatre, accompanied by a 
teacher. His few girls amounted to eight- 
een in all, which with himself and the 
teacher made a party of twenty, of which I 
was one. We had four whole boxes at the 
Tremont Theatre, and after the show went 
to supper at the Touraine. Here we had a 
spread that would have done credit to 
James Hazen Hyde, and he was in despair 
because we would n't all lodge the night in 
the hotel at his expense. 

The next day every one in the party re- 
ceived a five-pound box of Allegrettis and 
an enormous bunch of violets with the card 



i66 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



of J. Perkins, ioo Washington Street, Chi- 
cago, attached. 

He was deeply pained when the presi- 
dent graciously declined to dismiss school 
for one day and let the whole eleven hun- 
dred girls and Faculty and all take an au- 
tomobile ride, which he said he would be 
delighted to give them, as it would be no 
trouble at all, for he had been to the new 
Motor-Mart and had secured an option on 
every machine in the city. 

Nobody could get offended at him, he 
was so good-natured. He simply melted the 
Wellesley ice like a furnace-blast and was 
gone before we had time to be shocked. 

When he went away he drove up to Col- 
lege Hall to get Sybil to go to the train with 
him, and insisted on taking me along. He 
made the driver go around by the presi- 
dent's house. She happened to be just com- 
ing out of her door as he drove up. He 
jumped out of the vehicle and shook hands 
with her cordially. 

"Well, good-by, Miss President. I've 
had the time of my life. Elegant place here 
— elegant. May be too many females in 
one bunch for some, but not for me. You 
can't get too many of 'em together for J. 
Perkins. You 're all right. Now, don't for- 
get; when you come to Chicago look me up. 
Here 's my card. Take the elevator — and 
you're right there. Whole top floor. In- 
quire for J. Perkins. Say, I '11 show you a 
good time. Mrs. Perkins will be tickled to 
death to see you. She 's all to the good — a 
little woozy on Christian Science — but 



that's better than bein' addicted to break- 
fast foods, and she's a good spender and 
don't have to go to bed early. Come any 
time and bring the whole Faculty; bring 
the whole school! Come on, we would n't 
do a thing to that old town! Well, good- 
by! Write to me if anything happens. Keep 
your eye on my girl here and make her get 
her lessons. That's what she's here for, to 
study, I tell her, to study, and not to be 
running in to Boston to shows — unless, of 
course, there's something real good on the 
boards. Well, good-by, lady. Be good !" 

Imagine! This to our president! We 
expected the heavens to fall. But the pres- 
ident laughed heartily and bade him good- 
by, and off we drove. 

He kissed us good-by at the station, and 
said: "Now, girls, be careful, do be careful. 
Wear your overshoes. Wash your hair and 
comb your face, and all that sort of thing. 
But whatever you do, have a good time. 
You ain't goin' to live but once, so get busy. 
Keep away from the boys and never kiss 
anybody but me. — Say, do you know, I've 
kept account, and I haven't kissed but 
eleven girls — Gee! One thousand and 
eighty-nine got past me ! I '11 carry that scar 
to my grave. — Well, good-by, good-by! 
Here's my train!" 

So there, perhaps I've given you some 
idea, Daddies, of what I mean when I say 
that we are all still breathing the ozone left 
in the wake of this tornado from the Windy 
City. Your daughter, 

Edna. 



[To be continued. 



THE CULTURE -VALUE OF MODERN 

AS CONTRASTED WITH THAT 

OF ANCIENT LANGUAGES 

By G. STANLEY HALL 




HE accompanying table, com- 
piled from the reports of the 
Bureau of Education since 
1888, presents graphically the 
very pregnant tendencies in 
American public high schools attended by 
some 600,000 select youths and maidens, 
and may well be the point of departure 
for the following discussion. A few of 
its general lessons, however, may be de- 
scribed by way of introduction. One of 
the most general of these is that about 
every science has declined: physiology, 
which was largely a temperance study, 
has fallen off since 1896 from thirty-five 
to twenty-four per cent; physics since 1904 
has dropped more than four points, despite 
the fact that it has received more of the 
fostering care of both college and high- 
j I school teachers than any other subject; 
physical geography has dropped; chem- 
istry has fallen off so that now hardly more 
than seven per cent are studying it in any 
given year; astronomy and geology have 
declined; algebra surpasses all other top- 
ics in the size of its classes, being studied 
by nearly three times as many as study 
geometry; and history, although advan- 
cing, has been outstripped by English liter- 
ature and by rhetoric; Greek is slowly 
dwindling and is taken by only two or 
three per cent ; while Latin some years ago 
crossed the fifty per cent line, French has 
never reached ten per cent, and German, 
beginning at this point in 1890, has ad- 
vanced to about eighteen per cent. These 
curves tell the story of the favored and dis- 
favored topics, and the most comprehen- 
sive and the saddest lesson is that formal 
studies not only far exceed those that are 
contentful, but are rapidly gaining. What 
used to be called the humanistic studies 
now have nearly twice as many devotees 
as science. All these lessons it behooves us 



to lay to heart, and, having rightly inter- 
preted the figures, to also seek to interpret 
their lessons. 

It is, however, only of foreign languages 
that I write here. 

A language expresses the life of a race, 
domestic, industrial, social, political, re- 
ligious ; and so far as the life that once an- 
imated it is extinct or transformed, the lan- 
guage is dead. In this sense, the life is 
gone out of Latin. Not a human being 
speaks it as a vernacular, or worships Ju- 
piter, once supreme over gods and men. 
The old ways of war, labor, private and 
public life, are obsolete, and all this makes 
such a language, if not vox et preteria nihil, 
a little unreal and ghostly. The Latin 
tongue and race, ethnologists tell us, died 
a natural death from decrepitude, if not old 
age. Now, death is to make room for more 
and fuller life, and nature has submerged 
unnumbered other tongues and stirps with- 
out leaving a vestige or a name — all for 
the sake of the unborn. So of all the ex- 
tinct animal species that far outnumber 
those living, not one once dead was ever 
again evolved. Remarkable as has been 
the persistence of Latin, which the Church 
took from a dying state, and which scholars 
have explored from the Renaissance down 
to the archaeological resurrectionists with 
spade and pick, the product, precious as it 
is for culture history, is a little like the 
ghosts of folk-lore, anaemic, unsubstantial, 
with a voice lisping, hollow, or raucous 
with age. The red blood and green chlo- 
rophyll of meaning now have been more or 
less bleached out of it by time. In the cult 
of a language dead in this sense, form always 
has, does, will, and must take precedence 
over content, and the choice between a 
dead and living language as an instrument 
of culture has many pregnant analogies 
which it would be interesting to trace out 

167 



1 68 



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in detail, with the question whether a stu- 
dent of biology would learn most of life 
by studying paleontology or giving his at- 
tention to the fauna and flora of to-day. 
Happily for science, experts in fossils have 
been very judicious and temperate in their 
claims and more mindful of the larger in- 
terests of the whole biological field than are 
the classicists for the cause of language- 
study generally; for their claim of para- 
mount culture -value has under changed 
conditions become a pedagogical anachro- 
nism. With a few distinguished and hon- 
orable exceptions, American Latinists are 
men of rather limited second-hand learn- 
ing, with but few fruitful original achieve- 
ments to their name, but are too largely 
a guild of text-book makers for the hordes 
of elementary Latin students in college and 
high school, and now even in grammar 
schools, who are urged on by teachers, 
parents, and traditions to sample a high 
culture for which Latin stands to their 
mind. 

How different all this is when we turn 
to a living tongue! Here thing, fact, act, or, 
in a word, content and meaning, lead and 



words follow and serve; and form, instead 
of being supreme, is , as it should be, ancil- 
lary. Germany, France, Italy, and Spain 
palpitate with life. Their people are all 
about us. Contemporary, political, com- 
mercial, literary events and interests there 
touch us. There are no disputes as to how 
these nations pronounce their language. 
If we visit one of these countries, a day's 
experience would give material for a small 
lexicon or book. There is a certain and 
legitimate charm, too, in contemporiety, 
as is seen in the daily press. The art of 
conversation, too, which Lotze thought at 
its best the highest human felicity, is pos- 
sible in a living tongue, and utilities of 
many kinds add their impulsion to speak 
or read it. At every stage of progress we 
are studying the physiology of living and 
not the anatomy of dead tissue. The mind 
is laden with impressions and experiences 
till we are impelled to put words to them, 
precisely as the child does and as the cre- 
ators of language did, who had to evolve 
it because their mental content overflowed. 
The modernist does not have to begin with 
the flatus vocis of a word spoken or even 



THE CULTURE-VALUE OF MODERN LANGUAGES 169 



printed, and then proceed to find a mean- 
ing with which to besoul it from the little 
known of antique life. 

Apologists for the classics have often 
urged that the culture-value of a tongue 
is increased because it is dead. This ar- 
gument played a role in the German dis- 
cussion twelve years ago and is very prom- 
inent in the book of Bennett and Bristol.* 
The argument runs as follows: To recon- 
struct the life of a great or vanished race 
from words alone, to read and understand 
their records, to reproduce their states of 
mind in ourselves (which constitute all 
that now lives of ancient Greece and Rome), 
and to do this with none of the above aids 
which the teacher of the modern tongue 
can invoke, is almost a creative process 
which gives us a purely ideal mental prod- 
uct that lives, moves, and has its being in 
the imagination informed by memory and 
tempered by reason. One writer even adds 
that when England, France, and Germany 
have gone the way of Greece and Rome, 
as they may some thousands of years 
hence, then their language and literature 
will acquire the same higher-culture power 
for our remote posterities who study them 
that Latin and Greek now possess. If this 
is so, it follows that the far future fruits of 
our loins, or the descendants of races now 
savage, when they have their innings and 
occupy the centre of the historic stage and 
wield the ever-accumulating resources of 
civilization, will have a still larger reper- 
tory of instruments of culture than we now 
have, unless the later tongues depose the 
older and Greek and Latin fall back toward 
the place now occupied by the old Aryan 
and Acadian. 

But let us look at this argument seriously. 
If the impoverishment of living content is 
desirable, why are the classicists so anx- 
ious to restore it by every device of maps, 
diagrams, photographs, casts, and why was, 
e. g., the St. Louis exhibit of models of 
Roman implements of many industries and 
illustrations of customs, dwellings, school, 
theatre, daily life, public and private, re- 
ligion, etc., nailed as such a pedagogic tri- 
ll umph, when it only marked one step 
toward giving the work of the Latin teach- 
er just the realia which constitute the great 

t i* Bennett, Charles E., and Bristol, George P., The Teach- 
ing of Latin and Greek in the Secondary School. Longmans, 
Green & Co., New York, 1901. 



and ready aid of the teacher of living tongues ? 
Who denies that this is good or that more 
would be better? — but these the modernist 
has. 

But, further, the classicists' arguments 
have slight regard of the psycho-physiol- 
ogy of speech as lately revealed by the 
study of its diseases, which show that lan- 
guage which really lives and is normal, 
with ear and mouth its primary centres 
and with those of the eye that reads and the 
hand that writes accessory, also has multi- 
form connection with the centres of all 
visual images, not those of words alone, 
and of all motor impulsion. A tongue that 
lives is first of all heard and spoken, and 
its foci are auditory and oral. If it is not 
spoken it thus lacks even linguistic actu- 
ality, and all that is bookish is two re- 
moves from life. But, more than this, the 
speech centres are connected with those of 
touch, of taste, smell, and with reflex and 
voluntary movements, and very closely with 
all the processes of thought, will, and feel- 
ing, so that if any of these are impaired in 
the slightest degree the speech function 
suffers. Hence, language becomes a true 
organ of the soul just in proportion as we 
think, will, feel, sense, act, in it or make it 
the focus where all afferent processes con- 
verge and whence all efferent activities 
diverge. That these cerebral and psychic 
currents of life and mind are more vital, 
more numerous, and more widely irradi- 
ated in a living than they can be in a de- 
funct tongue is plain to every one familiar 
with the facts of the sensory and motor 
aphasias. The tailor who cannot say 
"shears," that farmer who has lost the 
words "corn" or "wheat," the. shoemaker 
who cannot utter the word "awl," the 
butcher who cannot say "meat" — all 
these at once pronounce these words and 
others nearest their vocation if they see, 
taste, smell, or use the objects; and almost 
any form of presentation along these asso- 
ciative lines always tends to bring out the 
proper word, showing how oneand in sepa- 
rable in our psycho-neural constitution are 
speech and contact with real and present 
life, and how merely verbal and artificial a 
language can become, the content of which 
is found only in the remote past. 

Thus the professors of Greek and Latin 
always tend to exalt form over content and 
substance. It would be interesting to 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



trace what I believe are the remote results 
of this tendency in our language school- 
books and in our rhetorics, the writer of 
one of which declares that it is not part of 
his business to give students anything to 
say, despite the fact that their minds are 
prodigiously empty, but his function is to 
make their words and sentences, if they use 
any, proper, appropriate, and grammatical, 
or clear, concise, and definite. This undue 
separation of form and content in the 
classroom depletes any subject of human 
interest, so that most of our Latin teachers 
are no longer humanists, but philologists, 
antiquarians, critics of texts, editors, au- 
thors of copious foot-notes, verbalists, syn- 
tacticians, pedants of form, and too often 
negligent of the moral and literary content 
of even the authors they teach; and these 
pedagogic errors copied from the univer- 
sity by the high school have brought about 
the extraordinary fact that while more 
secondary pupils in this country take 
Latin than any other topics, save algebra 
alone, more drop it soon and forget it more 
completely than is the case with any other 
topic. The vast majority of Latin students 
in this country to-day are high-school girls, 
and if my census of from four thousand to 
five thousand is typical, more boys drop 
Latin and also drop out of high school from 
this than is the case with any other subject; 
while in colleges with electives boys are 
rapidly abandoning the study of ancient for 
that of modern tongues arid sciences. If, 
indeed, the ideals of young men are the best 
materials for prophecy, college Latin will 
soon be left to girls, most of whom hope to 
teach it in the high school, or perhaps now, 
in New England, in the grammar school. 
Another very important result of this 
meagreness of content in a dead language 
is that the novice lingers longer in the 
translation stage than he does in learning 
modern tongues. In the latter he can soon 
associate the word with the object, act, or 
quality directly, without the mediation of 
the vernacular, while in Latin or Greek 
the word must be translated into English 
and then given its meaning, so that here 
there is more word-matching, which is a 
very formal process, because language it- 
self abstracted from meaning is the object 
of study. Indeed, this is now even set forth 
as the great advantage of a dead tongue. 
Latin, we are told, teaches more of Eng- 



lish than the study of English itself, and 
Bennett goes so far as to urge that when 
the student is so proficient in Latin that he 
thinks in it without mentally translating its 
culture-value declines; or, in other words, 
the chief advantage comes in the earlier 
stages of study, and it is the secret of its 
pedagogic worth that this stage is pro- 
longed. 

Now I submit, if this were true, the ideal 
of Sturm, perhaps the prince of all Latin 
teachers, of so training boys that if they 
could be transported to ancient Rome they 
would feel more at home there than in 
Schul Pforta itself, was wrong, despite its 
magnificent results. He was jealous of 
the vernacular and waged war upon it in 
every way that he could devise. He wanted 
none of this mediation and abhorred trans- 
lation. Were this view sound, it would also 
follow that we must beware lest our classes 
in Latin advance too far, lest it cease to be 
ancillary or ad majorem gloriam Englica 
and set up for itself a danger that need give 
us no present cause of great alarm. If this 
view be sound, the efforts above described 
to animate the speech of old Rome with 
copious illustrations from its life and to 
make all anschaulich are erroneous, be- 
cause all such devices tend to bring life 
and eliminate the mediation of English. 
We should work with grammar, lexicon, 
and text-book alone, and keep the walls of 
our classrooms bare of pictures; but to do 
any or all of these things is absurd. 

What of the boasted effects of the clas- 
sical tongues upon English in the callow 
stage of linguistic development in which 
most students of ancient languages are? 
Some of you remember the curious pigeon 
or translation English of the Harvard ex- 
amination-papers which Charles Francis 
Adams reproduced in a pamphlet some 
years ago. From most of these sentences 
it seemed as though all idiomatic sense of 
the purity, propriety, and precision of 
which our rhetorics, fitter to make proof- 
readers than orators, prate so much had 
been completely lost. The process of de- 
terioration is easily understood. The boy 
selects one of the first of the meanings of 
each new word from his Latin-English 
dictionary, and arranges these, each with 
its proper termination for case, mode, and 
tense, in the general order of his own 
tongue, and the version is made perhaps 



THE CULTURE-VALUE OF MODERN LANGUAGES 171 



literally correct, but stylistically clumsy 
and grotesque. His effort to be faithful 
on the one hand to the original, and to be 
true to the genius of his own tongue on 
the other, ends in a compromise which 
makes his rich and cherishing mother 
tongue stepmotherly and the pupil a lin- 
guistic orphan or bastard. He may go on 
to develop a speech-consciousness which 
is oppressive and from which he hastens 
to escape, when class hour ends, into slang, 
which is now the lingua franca of the 
American adolescent boy and girl. This 
translation stage is a very critical period 
for linguistic development, beset with many 
and grave dangers, and it is one of the chief 
advantages of the modern languages that 
they shorten it and thus reduce these dan- 
gers and give two independent languages, 
and not a mongrel or cross-breed between 
two philological species; and all hybrids 
are sterile. 

But of course translation may be a high 
art. Long ago I spent a year with a phi- 
losophy class on Jowett's translation of Plato 
with what I thought fair results, but my 
colleague, a splendid Grecian, reproached 
me, saying that my work was not truly 
academic, that Plato could be understood 
only in Greek, and he even intimated that 

I it was almost a profanation on the part of 
the great master of Baliol and his pupil 

I who worked at it many years to translate 
it at all. I know a Dante scholar who calls 
Longfellow's translation a well-meant vul- 
garization of "The Divina Commedia," 
and others who think the same of Palmer's 
Odyssey and of other great translations 
of masterpieces, and hold that a quin- 
tessential something with inconceivable 
culture-power, although too subtle for 
psychology to detect, is lost in these ver- 
sions. This is often true, and if so, how 
great the value that is dissipated in school 
translations! On the other hand, such 
claims as the above are often pushed to the 
extent of academic affectation and cad- 
dishness. Did not King James's corps of 
scholars translate the very saving soul of 
Scriptures into English, and Fitzgerald 
that of Omar Khayyam ? Indeed, it is said 
of both these and others that their content 
was better when rendered into English 
than it was in the original, because it found 
in our tongue a better organ. I think that 
the pedagogy of the future will begin the 



study of all great masterpieces in other 
tongues, ancient and modern, with that of 
great versions in the vernacular, if they 
exist. Every real translator must first make 
the original tongue a second vernacular 
and truly read it, which consists of taking 
in all the author's meaning unchanged, 
and thus attaining his standpoint and par- 
taking somewhat of his genius. Only when 
he has done this can he transport and re- 
create the content and make it speak 
equally well and possibly better than its 
original tongue. Many, if not most, of the 
great ancient classics are now monuments 
of English literature and should be read 
and rated as English classics. Now this art 
of many arts, translation, the tyros can 
only parody, and their babble-babel is a 
confusion of tongues. They cannot trans- 
late anything worth while, and the classi- 
cist who looks only at the ideal translation 
when he speaks in public, and not at the 
actual performance of his pupils in this 
classroom, lives in a Fool's Paradise. 
That the best methods of teaching mod- 
ern languages reduce the perils of these 
efforts to ever smaller dimensions is one 
of their chief merits, and the classicist has 
much to learn of them. 

Again, training and culture can no longer 
be contrasted with or even separated from 
utility. Psychologists agree that all that we 
have thought to be purely noetic is at bot- 
tom purely practical, for the intellect is one 
form of the will. Pure no longer stand 
over against applied sciences, and service 
is the supreme test of all culture-values. 
Only use-value is real, and there is no gen- 
eral ability that can be trained by certain 
subjects and then, once developed, be 
turned in any direction. Reason, imagina- 
tion, memory, and the rest are from first 
to last specialized by nature, and must be 
so by education. Hence we must also con- 
sider pragmatic values. 

Latin and Greek terms are most needed 
in the glossaries or technical nomenclature 
of the biological and medical sciences, in- 
cluding chemistry, which it is estimated 
use more such terms than all the words 
known in Latin. The German seeks to 
duplicate every one of these words by those 
of Teutonic origin, often clumsily enough, 
while we have but one technical termi- 
nology. Mineralogy, geology, and pale- 
ontology also draw largely upon the classi- 



172 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



cal dictionary. Mathematics, physics, and 
astronomy need but few such terms. Legal 
practice demands but a few score phrases 
bequeathed it from the Roman law, unless 
one is to be a student of the history of ju- 
risprudence and wishes to read the Justian 
Codex in the original. The clergy need 
Latin and Greek, but few of our Protes- 
tant theological seminaries use the former, 
and some do not require it, while even New 
Testament Greek may be fairly said to be 
in a languishing condition. It would be 
interesting to know how many use it later. 
Technical students often get on well with- 
out either, but for all these scientific uses 
terms from a dead language are better, 
because they will not change with growth 
and so can be given a fixed, arbitrary, and 
sometimes even a new meaning. The other, 
and probably the chief, use to which Latin 
is now put is for teaching. 

In the advanced and intensive study of 
Greek and Latin I believe with all my 
heart. I have visited the different national 
schools at Athens and Rome, and though 
not a classicist, have felt as a pedagogue 
their splendid scientific enthusiasms, and 
can in my dim lay way appreciate the mag- 
nificent results which the great leaders have 
achieved, and share their hopes. I would 
strengthen the classical departments in 
every university in this land and cheer them 
on with my heartiest vivat, crescit, floriat. 
My protest is against the qualitative degen- 
eration that has gone with the quantitative 
expansion of these studies, especially in 
secondary-school grades where tradition 
and respectability have made them but 
the shadow of a shade, where the first 
year's high-school Latin of five hours a 
week gives a vocabulary (on which too 
much stress is given here) of less than four 
hundred words, about as much as a baby 
acquires of its own tongue the second year 
of life, about one quarter of this slender 
stock of words being so near their English 
equivalents that they could be rightly 
guessed without study. It requires little 
or no knowledge to translate convenio, 
convene, femina, feminine, etc. Under 
current methods of setting and hearing 
lessons, instead of studying with his pupils 
as I described in my last article in this jour- 
nal,* the American teacher does not need to 

* See G. Stanley Hall's "The German Teacher Teaches," 
New England Magazine, April, 1907. 



be nearly so far in advance of his pupils 
as does the teacher of modern languages 
under the methods they now use. For the 
rank and file of Latin teachers, the ped- 
agogic method is, if I am not mistaken, 
more antiquated than are methods in any 
other field, the preparation less substantial, 
and the work more often abandoned by the 
pupils. Some of the more conservative 
masters almost seem to feel it bad form to 
try to make their work easy or interesting, 
and have a certain esoteric aloofness; so 
you easily detect in educational discussions 
their sense of elite superiority that talks 
de haul en bas, as if they were culture's own 
chosen and elect. In the days when Do- 
natus and later Priscian were most in vogue, 
Virgil was read for the sake of the grammar, 
so supreme was form and so insignificant 
was content; and later, to show how low 
Latin training can degenerate, we have 
abundant records in the history of educa- 
tion of clergy who used the Latin formulae 
of the Church, but did not understand it 
enough even to change the genders in the 
prayers for the dead. Charlemagne's 
"Capitularies" describe sufficiently this 
condition of Latin training. 

The modernists, too, have their enthu- 
siasms. How many American teachers in 
all advanced departments look to Germany 
as the birthplace of their souls into the high- 
er intellectual life! There, and perhaps in 
France, possibly in Italy, we found our 
vocation, set our standards high, and our 
later pilgrimages thither are almost as to a 
Holy Land of science. Perhaps we, too, 
idealize their art, literature, life, fashions, 
and even errors. We need them to supple- 
ment and complement, as well as to spur us 
on ; and now, as everything is taking on 
cosmic dimensions and the world is ac- 
quiring a solidarity, he who knows but one 
living tongue is provincial. The Greeks 
did not have to study a foreign language, 
and who can say how much more indig- 
enous their development was from this 
cause? Had they done so, it may well be 
doubted whether they would have produced 
the immortal works which make their lan- 
guage a literature now so precious. And 
the Romans studied only Greek, which was 
to them a living, modern tongue. To be a 
citizen of the world, as the educated man 
and woman of to-day must be, we must 
know at least several tongues. Which is 






THE CULTURE-VALUE OF MODERN LANGUAGES 173 



s 1 better, to be ancients, or to extend the 
5 range of our linguistic rapport among con- 
E temporary nations? Every teacher of 
every department who wishes to follow the 
progress in his field must command at 
least French and German; for translations 
from these languages, even the works of 
the first rank, are less and less. Reading 

I knowledge of them is almost necessary for 
, respectability in any line of scholarship 
i to-day. If the American lawyer needs them 
I [less for the practice of his profession, the 
American clergyman needs them more if 
he would lead or even grow. They open a 
rich, new, and varied field of untranslated 
literature, and not merely to the critic or 
student of comparative literature, but even 
to the reader of novels, dramas, and 
poems. 

I Much American talent goes into politics, 
jland most of it into business, and if there is 
[anything now needed more than anything 
else in these fields, both so suddenly broad- 
ened as we have become a colonizing world - 
jpower, it is just the culture that comes from 
1 broader, sympathetic view of how things 
in the field of industry and statecraft look 
through French, German, Spanish, and 
[talian, not to say still other, eyes. Our 
American Bureau of South American Re- 
oublics tells us over and over again that we 
I ire losing all these markets because we do 
lot know French and Spanish, and fail to 
Ind or send there sagacious agents who do. 



Our ambassadors in foreign lands are often 
totally ignorant of the tongue of the sover- 
eigns and courts to whom they are accred- 
ited, and are often victims of imposition 
from the underlings in their own office ; and 
the same is often true of those appointed 
to rule the races that have recently become 
subject to us. We have been strangely pro- 
vincial and linguistically insulated from 
the great family of nations, and have thus 
grown singularly incapable of profiting by 
the experiences of other lands, although we 
are now slowly improving in this respect. 
It would have been better for the past and 
present and future if the proportion of 
youth studying ancient and modern lan- 
guages had been exactly reversed. Noth- 
ing gives such insight into and respect for 
another country as to study its language 
and thus to get into touch with its soul. To 
do this, to feel the aspirations, to know the 
achievements, to be spurred by the senti- 
ment of emulation and rivalry and seek the 
virtues, and to avoid the errors and vices 
of other countries in which the Zeitgeist is 
now weaving the complex web of history, 
to realize that there are other excellences 
than ours, to be shamed for our political 
and social shortcomings by others' merits, — 
this and not converse with the past is the 
new larger and truly humanistic culture of 
the present and of the future, toward which 
we must now strive; for content and not 
form must lead. 



174 NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 

INDIAN SUMMER 

By PAULINE FRANCES CAMP 

Pennons of flame, to west, to east, to north! 

October flings his fiery challenge forth. 

From rustling hedgerows pipes the fifing quail, 

Swift answered by old Winter's gusty hail. 

Too soon his vanguard sweeps throughout the land, 

And strips the gaudy trees with ruthless hand. 

Then, like the redskin maid of long ago, 
Rare Indian Summer steps 'twixt foe and foe. 
Each draws him back, reluctant, from the fray, 
With promise given to meet another day. 
Then burr of locusts sounds through mellow days, 
And happy children haunt the woodland ways. 

Shrill, boyish whistles fill the hazy air, 
And little figures, flitting here and there, 
Gay silhouettes against a crimson frieze, 
Make living pictures 'tween the framing trees. 
While squirrels frisk, and scold the merry thieves 
Who glean their nutty harvest 'neath the leaves. 



IN MEMORY OF A DAY 

By MARGARET N. GOODNOW 

And what is so rare as a day in June — 

Except it be one in November! — 
When earth, sky, and heart glow, warmly attune 

With the year's fading glory and splendor ? 
And what is so kind as the clasp of warm hands 

When the heart pulses true to the meeting; 
And friendship, abeam, at the open door stands, 

Her eyes all aglow with love's greeting ? 

And what is so sweet as an old-time song. 

Sung by voices aquiver with feeling, 
Whilst tender old memories lovingly throng 

And tears down the furrows are stealing? 
And what is so pure as a good-by kiss, 

The "God bless you" so sweet to remember? - 
For naught in the world of acclaim would I miss 

This one perfect day in November. 



THE CHOJU-SO: A LEGEND OF THE 
CHRYSANTHEMUM 




By ESTHER MATSON 



T befel in the Little Spring 

which we call autumn. Wa- 

nita-Mimi must die. The 

most learned man in Japan 

said it. The Shogun declared 

[I it to the Court. The vine that grew on 

' Wanita-Mimi's window-lattice mourned it 

to the breeze, and the breeze sighed it to 

the world. 

Nothing could save her unless it be a 
draught from the crystal clear River that 
flowed under the Mountain Kai. There 
grew a wondrous rose-red flower: now if 
the petals of it blew into the River a drink 
of the water would give health and beauty 
and happiness to him who drank. 

So it was writ. But none knew where to 
find the magic River. 

" Yet," said the Prince who loved Wanita- 
Mimi, " Joy-of-the-Court shall drink of it 
and live." 

So he went out to search. 



On the morning of the first day he passed 
through the Garden-of-a-Hundred-Flow- 
ers. It was here a pale pink chrysanthe- 
mum leaned toward him. It was Ahe-No- 
Sora, "Sky at Dawn," who whispered hope 
to him. 



On the second day he had gone beyond 
the Garden, but Blessings-of -Majesty, that 
was yet another pale rose flower, spoke to 
him a word of comfort. 



By the end of the third day, when Shad- 
ows-of-the-Evening-Sun glowed red along 
the horizon he felt his love burning like- 
wise hot within his breast. 



It was midway of the day after that^he 



met the Red Dragon, and that was a lost 
day. 



But early on the fifth morn Golden-Dew 
laid her cool finger-tips on his forehead, 
and that was a dav of cheer. 



As the night of the sixth fell Moon's- 
Halo shone so bright that a great peace 
stole over his heart. 

But the Prince was not yet come to the 
end of his journeyings. Nine long days and 
nine longer nights he wandered east and 
west, and still he found not what he sought. 



It was at set of sun on the ninth day that 
Mist-o'-the-Moon blinded his eyes with 
tears. Then came over him a faintness like 
to death, for in all that time he had not 
eaten nor drunk nor slept. 

Face down then, he fell on the ground, 
and so lay through the night and knew 
nothing. 



At gray of the day he awoke to burning 
thirst. A moist pebble touched his hand. 
"Water," he gasped, and crawled to where 
he heard a river purling. 

Not till he had slaked his thirst did he 
look up, and lo! before his eyes was the 
King's house, and hard by that of Wanita- 
Mimi. Alas, then he had gone far astray, 
and was but come home again empty- 
handed. 

At the thought despair seized him. He 
stared as if he had been carven stone him- 
self. The King's house here? Aye, there 
was no mistaking the yellow gate with the 
bronze dragons on either side. Wanita- 
Mimi's? Aye, there was no mistaking the 

175 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



vine-framed lattice with the golden bird- 
cage hanging without. 

And yet — the Prince rubbed his eyes. 
At his feet rolled a river clear as crystal ; on 
his right hand rose a mountain over whose 
side there grew a wonderful plant. 
Could it be possible that this ? — 
The Prince's heart beat furiously. At 
the moment a wind blew one of the flowers 
from the plant into the river. In the wave 
it glowed rose-red, and the Prince knew 
that there in truth was the crystal-clear- 
River, the Mountain Kai and the healing 
Choju-So. 



Then, quicker than it takes to tell of it, 
he ran to Wanita-Mimi, and no sooner had 
she drunk the magic drink than she grew 
straightway rosy and strong again, and 
goodness and happiness and long life were 
hers thereafter; even as it is writ. 



So now you have the story, and know| 
why the Chrysanthemum is the flower of 
the royal house in Japan, and why on the 
ninth day of the ninth month of every year 
is celebrated the Festival of the Choju-So, 
that " Flower-of-the-Four-Seasons." 






A MIRACLE 

By WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH 

Down through the dusty streets I go: 
The prosy brick fronts stand arow; 
Electric wires besieve the sky; 
Electric cars go clanging by; 
The July sun malignant glares 
Upon the huckster's drooping wares; 
The sparrows in the gutter flirt 
Ditch-water on my lady's skirt; 
Two miles of this to Boston town — 
Enough to cast one's spirits down! 
Then suddenly a breath of air, 
Unheralded, from who knows where, 
Brings to my sense an odor faint, 
Unrecognized yet eloquent, 
And whiff! the dullsome street is gone — 
Before me towers the Pantheon! 
Behind that mighty portico 
Lurk the great gods of long ago; 
About me flit the imperious shades 
Of those who built these colonnades: 
Agrippa, he who talked with Paul, 
Trajan, Septimius, and all 
The older and the newer lords 
Who bound the Seven Hills with cords. 
Time is wiped out, and once again 
I mingle with Italian men, 
While on me, scarce a step from home, 
Falls the immortal spell of Rome. 




View of the Consular quarters at Bagdad 



BAGDAD, THE HOME OF SINDBAD 
AND ALADDIN 



By EDGAR J. BANKS 




ONSTANTINOPLE, the most 
turbulent city in the world, is 
officially known throughout 
the Ottoman Empire as "The 
Abode of Peace;" with the 
same sense of the inappropriateness of 
things, Bagdad, one of the filthiest of all 
Oriental towns, is still known as "The 
Glorious City;" yet, in spite of its modern 
poverty, its narrow, winding streets, its 
squalid mud huts, and the filth of its peo- 
ple, the Bagdad of Haroun-al-Raschid, of 
(Scheherazade, of Sindbad the Sailor, and of 
Aladdin, the city in which every boy has 
Lived over and over again the stories of 
"The Arabian Nights," will always be glo- 
ious. 

Bagdad is far from the track of the trav- 
eller; the long journey of nearly a month 
across the Arabian desert, or the still longer 
sea route through the Persian Gulf and five 
hundred miles up the Tigris River, is so 
[difficult or so expensive that hardly a tourist 
of the "Cook" variety has ever visited it. 

The historian describes Bagdad as the 
creation of the Calif Mansur in 762 a.d.; 
put in the earliest Assyrian times, nearly 
three thousand years before Mansur made 
It the capital of Arabia, a city then called 
IBagdadu stood upon the Tigris. Nearly 
two and a half millenniums ago the great 
Nebuchadnezzar rebuilt it; a pleasant sun- 
Bet hour may now be spent in ascending the 
fiver in a little boat similar to the one in 



which the three wise men of Gotham went 
to sea, and in digging from the great em- 
bankment above the modern bridge a large, 
square brick stamped with the name and 
titles of this illustrious Babylonian king. 
The bowl in which the boatman rapidly 
whirls his passenger back and forth while 
slowly paddling up the stream is a wicker 
coracle smeared over with bitumen. Such 
boats are portrayed upon the sculptures of 
ancient Nineveh, and in them Sindbad may 
have had one of his first unrecorded adven- 
tures 

Of the old round city of Calif Mansur, 
to the left of the river, nothing but low 
mounds concealed by squalid brick houses 
of the Moslem quarter remain to mark its 
site, and if in laying the foundations for the 
modern houses there failed to appear the 
fragments of carved marble, the old city 
and its culture would long have been for- 
gotten by its modern inhabitants. 

The city of Haroun-al-Raschid, the hero 
of "The Arabian Nights," the Calif who in 
the guise of one of his subjects delighted to 
wander about the streets at night in search 
of adventure, was to the left of the Tigris. 
The site of his famous palace is now occu- 
pied by the great ungainly buildings of the 
foreign consuls. The walls of his city, de- 
scribing a semicircle along the eastern shore, 
were standing until 1870, when Midhat 
Pasha, a Turk who aped the civilization of 
the West, was governor. In his attempt to 



1 7 8 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Bab-es-Shergi, the south gate 



Originally the traffic passed through this gateway, which is 
now bricked up 



Europeanize the Arabs, his first great work 
was to pay the salaries of the officials and 
the public debt with the bricks of the old 
city wall. Speedily the fortifications of the 
Califs disappeared, and the foundations 
and the half-filled moat became sufficiently 
unsightly to serve as a cemetery for the 
Bagdad Jews. 

The gates of Bagdad, five in number, 
were large, covered fortifications ; the three 
which were fortunate enough to escape the 
destructive process of paying the salaries 
of public officials still bear evidence of the 
true glory of the city of the Califs. The 
south gate is now a guard-house, and in the 
spot where the proud Arabian sentinel for- 
merly paced his beat a ragged Turkish sol- 
dier, armed with a Springfield rifle, the dis- 
carded relic of our Civil War, lounges about 
to salute his superiors as they pass. The 
entrance to the gate has been bricked up, 
forcing the modern traffic over the bed of 
the wall at its side. 

The Gate of the Talisman, the next in 
order as one follows about the city, is now 
a powder-house. Stone lions and dragons 






still keep guard above the outer entrance 
and the Arabic inscription in huge letter; 
running about the circular tower is an illus 
tration of the skill of the Arabian artists 
The gateway was bricked up in 1638, whei 
Sultan Murad IV. captured the city. A fev 
years ago a native woman excavated a po 
of Arabic gold near the gate, and now th< 
ground in that vicinity is filled with hole: 
dug by the people who would follow he 
example. 

The middle gate is well preserved, an( 
although the Arab prefers to enter the cit; 
by climbing down into the bed of the moat 
it is still capable of use. A fortified bridg, 
leads over the moat to the octagonal tower 1 
and a second bridge, at right angles witl 
the first, leads from the tower, over the sur 
rounding arm of the moat, to the desert. 

Of the three Arabian women whosj 
names will always live in story, — the Queei| 
of Sheba, Zenobia, and Zobeide, — the lasj 
is buried at Bagdad. It is with consider 
able awe that one passes through the larg 
Mohammedan cemetery in the desert tj 
the right of the river, and approaches a: 



BAGDAD, HOME OF SINDBAD 



179 




All that is left of the ancient walls of Bagdad 



octagonal brick tower surmounted with a 
jpineapple dome, for there tradition says 
(Zobeide, the favorite wife of Haroun-al- 
'Raschid, was buried. Although the critic 
would destroy our faith in the tradition, the 
Jtomb was once worthy of the gentle lady 
(who ruled and deceived with her cunning 
the greatest monarch of the Arabic world. 
The repair in which the tomb is now kept 
lis characteristic of the governing Turk. 
JThe door has disappeared; the stairway 
leading to the top of the octagonal base is 
almost impassable; the tower is slowly fall- 
ing to pieces; the carvings upon its walls 
[have been torn away to decorate modern 
[tombs; and the mound which marks the 
brave is a shapeless heap of brick frag- 
ments. The open tomb is the hiding-place 
pr bats and a playhouse for young Mos- 
lems; at sunset it serves as a watch-tower 
for the robber who would waylay the belated 
traveller. Poor Zobeide, with her beauty, 
lier charms, and her intrigues, was worthy 
hi a better fate. 

Near-by in the desert is a little square 
jiouse which was recently constructed above 
the grave of the Calif Mansur. Of the long 
fine of the Bagdad Califs, the Grand Viz- 



iers, the Ministers, the Chief Executioners, 
whose names are familiar to most school- 
boys, the grave of but one remains; the rest 
have been swept away by the current of the 
changing river, or plundered by the Arabs 
for their bricks, or buried beneath the mod- 
ern city. 

Whoever would search for traces of the 
city's glory should visit the remains of the 
university, where, long before Columbus 
discovered America, the greatest scholars of 
the world taught that the earth is round, 
and, reviving the forgotten learning of the 
Chinese, added to it, and passed it on 
through the Spanish Moors to the western 
nations. The world may thank the Arabs 
for paper, for gunpowder, for the water- 
wheel, and for the knowledge of grafting 
fruit-trees; many of our most common 
words — sugar, cotton, alcohol, alchemy, 
and a host of others — are Arabic. Now 
the university is a han, and the petty tra- 
ders who pass beneath the proud inscription 
of the archway have forgotten that their 
storerooms were once the lecture-halls of 
learned professors. 

In the centre of the modern city is a sculp- 
tured and inscribed minaret towering far 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Sitt Zobeide, the tomb of the favorite wife of Haroun-al-Raschid 



above the flat roofs of the houses. The 
mosque which it once adorned has disap- 
peared; from its gallery the muezzin no 
longer calls the Faithful to prayer, and 
thousands of blue doves, the sacred bird in 
which the soul of the prophet Mohammed 
is expected to return to earth, are its occu- 
pants. From its summit one may see, be- 
yond the flat roofs of the city, the golden 



minaret of Kazamieh rising above the sur 
rounding date-palms, and the Tigris wind 
ing like a huge snake through the deser 
until it disappears on the horizon. In ever] 
direction, as far as the eye can reach, is th< 
once fertile plain of two of the most civilizec 
nations of the world, — the Babylonian: 
and the Arabs; now it is deserted save fo: 
an occasional group of black tents. 



BAGDAD, HOME OF SINDBAD 



181 



The modern city is a network of winding 
lanes, too narrow in places for horsemen, 
and sometimes when pedestrians meet they 
must squeeze against the walls to pass. It 
is more or less of a labyrinth; when the na- 
tives are lost in its maze their method of 
extrication is to follow along the path worn 
I deep by the donkeys which carry the water 
! to the houses, for all such paths lead to the 
[river. Few of the native houses have win- 
ijdows opening upon the streets. From the 
large, open court about which the house is 



punkah or fan swinging from the ceilings 
and with the thick camel- thorn screen, 
moistened to cool the passing air by evap- 
oration, the Bagdadi may endure the swel- 
tering heat of summer when the thermom- 
eter registers one hundred and twenty de- 
grees in the shade; but during the winter, 
when the thermometer is at freezing-point, 
he shivers the days away over a charcoal- 
brazier. 

The government of Bagdad is Turkish: 
many of the officials are exiles from Con- 




Abdul Kadr, the largest mosque in Bagdad 



fuilt open the kitchen, the rooms for the 
srvants, and the half underground serdaubs 
rhich serve as a refuge from the heat of 
Limmer. On the second floor are the living- 
i ooms, and above is the flat roof where dur- 
I ng the six hot months of the year the fam- 
sl ly retires for the evening meal, and sleeps 
iflijintil the morning sun drives them below. 
sfi (There is an unwritten law that the Bagdadi 
ven" nay not gaze over the railing of his roof to 
lit lis neighbor's harem; if the harem's hus- 
jzcl >and is present the law is seldom broken. 
jar J With the underground serdaub provided 
il vith air-shafts reaching to the roof, with a 



stantinople; others have purchased from the 
Sublime Porte the right to plunder the prov- 
ince. Half of its hundred thousand inhab- 
itants are Arabs and Persian Moslems; the 
other fifty thousand, with the exception of 
a few Chaldaeans and Armenians, are Jews, 
the descendants of the Hebrews who were 
exiled from Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar. 
The Bagdad Jew is the poorest specimen of 
his race, and all of the tricky qualities which 
are supposed to be Jewish are combined 
and exaggerated in him. He no longer 
wears the yellow turban, nor is he required, 
as in the time of the Califs, to dismount 




The ancient minaret, the loftiest tower in Bagdad, one of the few monuments dating from 

the time of the Califs 




1 



Embankment constructed by Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon. Each of its large square 

bricks bears his name and title 






BAGDAD, HOME OF SINDBAD 



183 




A Bagdad woman driving buffalo to water 



from his donkey when meeting a Moslem in 
the street; yet as a survival of the old regu- 
lation he wears a turban about the fez, and 
his wife, concealed in her dark blue gown 
which is interwoven with silver, hides her 
face behind the horsehair, vizor-like veil. 
No more superstitious creature exists than 
the Bagdad Jew. Thirty-five years ago he 
was excommunicated for sending his chil- 
dren to school, and when under the ban no 
one might feed him or give him work. His 
wife may not look into a mirror, nor sweep 



the floor, nor bring a saucepan into the 
house after dark. When her child dies she 
forgets the Hebrew law and takes into the 
household a pig to guard the other children 
from the evil eye; if the pig should die its 
skin is used for their clothing. 

The Arabs of Bagdad are mostly Bed- 
ouins who have deserted their wandering 
life for the peace of the city. The men 
wear the Turkish fez or the head-dress of 
the desert, the long aba and the red, pointed 
shoes; the women tattoo their faces and 




The tomb of Sheik Omar, one of the important shrines of Bagdad 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



sometimes their entire bodies with an in- 
tricate pattern of vines and flowers, dye their 
nails with henna, and decorate their ears 
and noses with rings. It is now seldom that 
the young Arab noble, mounting his pure- 
blooded horse, joins his companions in 
races and sports outside the city. No 
longer is his love for adventure so great 
that he loads his camels with merchandise 
and crosses the desert, or embarks at the 
port of Busreh on a sailing-ship to the un- 
known parts of the world. The story-teller, 
it is true, sits in the cafe as of old, but his 
stories attract only those who are fond of 
their lewdness. The same large white don- 
key from the far distant city of Hassa, with 
the end of its tail and its forehead dyed with 
henna, like the beards of the Persians, still 
brings the water from the river. The fish- 
erman wanders along the Tigris and, while 



calling upon Allah to help him, casts his net 
into the water; but he no longer finds it 
weighted with an iron box confining an 
afreet, or the body of a beautiful maiden. 
The merchant still sits in the bazaar before 
his little booth, but his stock of goods is not 
so extensive as when the city contained 
three millions of people. The old men go 
to the mosque and to the shrines of the 
saints to pray, but not with the same fervor 
as in the old days. The peasant-woman 
still drives her water buffaloes to the river 
to drink, but the herd is diminished. The 
ladies resort to the hot baths, but the slave 
attendants and the sweet perfumes are miss- 
ing, and the love-lorn Arab lad no longer 
improvises his passionate songs beneath 
the windows of the houri-like maiden who 
has enraptured his heart. All this has 
passed away forever. 



DESTINY 



By JAMES BUCKHAM 

I know the house wherein my soul shall dwell. 
My soul hath built it, or in heaven or hell. 
Needs not the Judgment Book my fate to tell. 

No fiat doth await the free-born mind. 
Itself elects, itself doth loose or bind. 
As writes the soul, so is the edict signed. 

Immortal life is evolution still. 

The stream of being floweth as it will. 

God doth not hinder. God doth but fulfil. 

The nature-child shall unto nature go. 
The Spirit-lover shall the Spirit know. 
The earth-bound back to stream of atoms flow. 

My joy of joys my spouse must ever be. 

I go to that I love. Nor shall I see 

The Face that e'er on earth was dark to me. 

In life to come, O soul, what shalt thou be? 
Thine own election and affinity! 
Absorbed in what hath here absorbed thee. 




The Spalding House, built about 1670, owned by Molly Varnum Chapter, D. A. R., of 

Lowell, Massachusetts 



REDISCOVERING AN OLD HOUSE 

By ELLEN STRAW THOMPSON 

How Molly Varnum Chapter, D. A. R., of Lowell, Mass., discovered and revived the 

almost obliterated beauties of an historic New England house. 

A typical New England opportunity 



S 1 

Li '^..•i±. 


; 



n 1653 two petitions reached 
the Great and General Court 
of Massachusetts at the same 
time: one signed by twenty- 
nine men principally from 
Woburn and Concord asking for a tract of 
land "beginning on Merrimack River, at a 
neck of land next to Concord River, south 
and west into the country to make up a 
quantity of six miles square." 

The second petition was signed by the 
Rev. John Eliot, agent and trustee for the 
Indians, asking that a grant of land sit- 
uated between Pawtucket Falls and the 
Concord River — known as Great Neck — 



"be appropriated for the sole and exclusive 
use of the tribe inhabiting thereabouts." 

Both petitions were granted. The first 
land mentioned formed the original limits 
of the town of Chelmsford. The second 
became known as the Wamesit grant. 

The tribe of Indians inhabiting the land 
obtained by Eliot had been converted by 
him, and were known first as the Pawtucket 
and later as the Wamesit, or Praying In- 
dians. They lived at peace with their neigh- 
bors, the citizens of Chelmsford; but after 
many years, their numbers became greatly 
reduced, and they sold their land and re- 
moved farther north, to Pennacook. The 

185 



1 86 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



old "Spalding House," the subject of this 
sketch, stands on land once a part of the 
"Wamesit grant," while Pawtucket and 
Wannalancit Streets, close by, serve to com- 
memorate the first proprietors and their 
celebrated chief. 

The Daughters of the American Revo- 
lution throughout the country have pre- 
served many historic houses, some of which 
have sheltered Washington, Lafayette, or 
other distinguished men. Others mark 
the scenes of memorable events; but this 



deeds made by a former historian of the 
Molly Varnum Chapter shows that this 
house, built about 1761 by one Robert Hil- 
dreth, had been the property of four differ- 
ent soldiers of the Revolution: Andrew 
Fletcher, Joseph Tyler, Captain JohmFord, 
and Moses Davis. The last was known 
as an innholder, and it was to his owner- 
ship, doubtless, that we owe many of the 
treasures unearthed during our period of 
restoration. 

From Moses Davis the estate next passed, 




Upper large hall, showing swinging partition, landseape paper, and restored seats 



place is entered on the old Middlesex coun- 
ty records for many years, in deed after 
deed, as part of the Wamesit grant, thus 
pointing like an index finger to a just and 
generous act of the white men toward the 
Indians. Eliot saw to it that their interests 
were in every way safeguarded. No white 
man could buy their land without permis- 
sion of the Court; hence when, in 1686, 
the Wamesits themselves asked permission 
to sell, the citizens of Chelmsford were al- 
lowed to buy only on condition that the 
Indians should receive full value. 

An exhaustive search through the old 



in 1 790, into the hands of Joel Spalding, the 
first of that name to possess it. He also 
had served in the Revolution, and his father, 
Col. Simeon Spalding, a most distinguished 
officer and citizen, owned land close by. 
Although the Spalding House may lack 
the distinction of many others in which 
Washington and Lafayette have been enter- 
tained for a few hours, it comes down to us, 
its present proud possessors, under the sig- 
natures of five soldiers of the Revolution, 
with a title bearing the mark of the " noble 
red man," its first inhabitant. 

The transformation of an inn into a pri- 



REDISCOVERING AN OLD HOUSE 



187 



vate house needed much putting up and 
tearing down of partitions, and the old 
house must have been quite overhauled 
when, in 1790, Joel Spalding, the first, took 
possession and started it on a new lease of 
life. In 18 1 9 Capt. Jonathan Spalding, a 
son of Joel Spalding, brought a bride to the 
home, which was destined soon to become 
a part of the city already striving for recog- 
nition. In 1826 this section of Chelmsford 
was set off as a part of Lowell, and gradu- 
ally the quiet surroundings changed as the 



many years. A distinguished Free Mason, 
for a long time a practising physician in 
Lowell, his death touched most deeply a 
large circle of friends and patients. Left 
alone, the sister drew more closely into the 
seclusion of her home, the house seeming to 
guard all the more jealously the loneliness 
and grief of this the last survivor of the 
family. On her way home from Jamaica, 
she died suddenly and left the house at 
last to face a dubious future, if not entire 
dissolution. 



I 




ill! 



The Spalding Memorial Room 



busy life of the city crept nearer. As the 
years went on, this family circle grew smaller 
and more reserved, and like many an old 
New England homestead, as the family 
grew less and less so the old house grew 
more and more aloof from the world, until, 
with closed blinds and chilling exterior, it 
concealed all traces of life within, just as 
the high board fence concealed the wealth 
of beauty and fragrance in its roses, lilies- 
of-the-valley, and other flowers which grew 
so luxuriantly in the garden. Dr. Joel Spald- 
ing, son of Captain Jonathan, and grandson 
of Joel, the first, lived here with his sister 



But helping hands came to the rescue, 
and the house, after more than one hun- 
dred years since Joel Spalding's purchase 
in 1790, now starts out in a new role. It 
stands to-day as a memento of the Wamesit 
grant ; as a link between the present and the 
old tavern days, its fireplaces, buried so 
many years under laths and plaster, once 
more sending out their cheery light; as a 
monument to the services of five brave 
old soldiers, and as a memorial of the grati- 
tude and love of the friends and patients 
of Dr. Joel Spalding, and of the regard 
and the esteem of his brother Masons. A 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




The ancient " tap-room, " now the living-room, showing the restored fireplace 



house so richly endowed cannot fail to suc- 
ceed. 

When the house first came into our pos- 
session we had no thought of what the fu- 
ture might have in store. Soon rumors 
of ancient fireplaces, into which kittens dis- 
appeared, only to reappear in other rooms, 
following mysterious passages in the old 
chimney, caused us to sound walls and pry 
into cracks; but the old chimneys kept 
their secrets well. Suddenly, the spirit of 
adventure seized us, and stripping the pa- 
per from the walls of the hall, tearing off 
plaster and ripping off boards, out came 
at last a fireplace, with the remains of a 
mantel. It was not exactly what we had 
expected to find, as it was small and shal- 
low, but it was a fireplace. Next it was dis- 
covered to have a false back; then, a hint 
from a wise man sent us looking for a larger 
fireplace beyond, and we found it. Relic 
of the days when wood was to be had for 
the asking, black with soot and gray with 
the ashes of many a smoke-talk, our fire- 
place stands to-day, nearly six feet across 
the front, with a mantel that is a joy to be- 
hold. Straight and plain, unbroken by 



shelf or ornament, its beautiful raised pan- 
els with their concave moldings mark it as 
one of the earliest forms of mantel; while 
the quaint little closet on the right, its posi- 
tion setting all rules of regularity at defi- 
ance, calls up visions of what that closet 
may sometime have contained. Stalwart 
lumbermen group in my dreams about this 
fireplace, smoking their pipes and relating 
stories of wonderful cargoes seen unloaded 
at Newburyport, or of their last hazardous 
journey through the New Hampshire for- 
ests, while every now and then some hand 
reaches up for the little squat bottle on the 
closet-shelf — it may have been your an- 
cestor's hand, or mine; who knows ? Noth- 
ing remained of the old hearth but the foun- 
dation. Bricks and tiles of all kinds and 
complexions were tried in the process of 
restoration, without avail. Each attempt 
made the fireplace look older and more di- 
lapidated, while the colors stood out like 
bright patches on a faded surface. Finally, 
some one suggested old sidewalk brick, 
and after infinite patience a sufficient num- 
ber of the same size and shape were pro- 
cured, laid in place herring-bone fashion, 



REDISCOVERING AN OLD HOUSE 




Front hall fireplace, with restored hearth 



by a Norwegian bricklayer who grasped 
the sentiment of the occasion, threw law 
and order to the winds, and produced a 
hearth which blended the old and new to- 
gether in one harmonious whole, and again 
we were at peace. Now, our hall, with its 
quaint curving staircase, its wainscotting 
rescued and restored, with its white paint, 
brass lamps, and the soft warmth of its 
yellow walls, is a sight to warm the heart of 
any lover of "ye olden time." 

We at first thought our kitchen could not 
be improved. Here we had a brick oven in 
fine working-order, a big fireplace with 
swinging crane, and a bewildering array of 
kettles, bakers, gridirons, and all kinds of 

I cooking-utensils. At the side of the fire- 
place was situated a rambling closet, but 
entered by a door so narrow that but few 

| could venture to explore its mysteries. The 
old ceiling was so low it could be easily 
touched by the hand, and in some places 
actually rested on the window-casing. Not 
until some one incited our ambition by sto- 
ries of raftered kitchens did we dream of 
disturbing it, but once the question was 
brought up, we had no rest until, after 



many decisions pro and con, we pulled 
down the plaster and to-day our beautiful 
brown rafters stand out in bold relief 
against the bright coloring of our "Cran- 
ford" paper, placing our kitchen beyond 
criticism. 

The success of our explorations so far 
gave us renewed courage, of which we 
needed all we could muster for working out 
our next problem. 

When the paper was removed from the 
walls of our hall the marks of a former door- 
way, connecting with the room at the rear, 
were plain to be seen. This little back 
room had three windows very close together, 
no two alike either in length or breadth. 
Restoring the old doorway, we gloried in 
our " tavern tap-room," as we in our ig- 
norance called it. When the wall-paper 
was taken off traces of a fireplace were 
visible in one corner, and the floor also 
bore the marks of a hearth to correspond. 
Made overconfident by success, we gave 
orders to restore this fireplace, without stop- 
ping to consider much about the conse- 
quences. Down came the partition next 
to the chimney, showing — not a fireplace, 



190 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




The old-time canopy bed 



but a hole; not a hole, but a chasm! Even 
the most courageous hesitated as we gazed 
into the labyrinth of the monster chimney, 
into which we had so recklessly plunged. 
Experts came, shook their heads and de- 
parted, giving no advice as to future action. 
The yawning chasm refused to give up its 
secret, and timid souls trembled lest the old 
house collapse over our heads. For thirty- 
six hours this wretched chimney, for all 
the world like a giant tree shattered by 
lightning, harassed our waking hours and 
haunted our dreams. 

At last, after repeated measurings, sound- 
ings, and pacings about, after peering into 
the attic and groping in the cellar, an ex- 
pert mason was found who announced that 
we had a circular chimney of six flues. Two 
of these flues were in use by fireplaces on 
the second floor, the remaining four being 
originally distributed as follows: one used 
from front hall, one from front room on left 
of hall, the two remaining having been used 
from a large fireplace situated in a long tap- 
room or living-room of which our present 
so-called tap-room had formerly been a 
part. At the time of change, doubtless, 



from tavern to private house, a partition 
had been built without any compunction, 
running straight into the chimney, cutting 
into hearth, flue, or anything else in its way, 
for the sole purpose, apparently, of provi- 
ding the small room with a nice square cor- 
ner; at the same time, in the other room 
thus formed, a corner fireplace was built, 
using the flue left undisturbed by the erratic 
partition. The experts' theory was later 
proved true by the mason, who found the 
remains of a "boiler" or brick oven, show- 
ing the location of the former fireplace, 
which had employed two flues. 

Encouraged now by advice from all sides 
we tore down the modern partition, aged 
some seventy-five or one hundred years, 
rebuilt the fireplace, copied the "mullun- 
leaf green" paint found on a part of the 
walls under the paper, thus wholly restor- 
ing our tap-room. In the process of this 
restoration we had encroached on one-half 
of the fashionable "long parlor" of more 
recent years. Possibly, Capt. Jonathan 
Spalding thought a long parlor none too 
good for his bride. Be that as it may, at 
some time the partition was taken down, 



REDISCOVERING AN OLD HOUSE 



191 



and a truss of such formidable size as to 
entirely close a doorway on the floor above, 
was put up to support the ceiling. A chim- 
ney-breast had been built in to the room, of 
sufficient width to entirely cover all traces 
of the corner fireplaces, which were, doubt- 
less, unsightly objects at that period, and 
a black ventilating-arrangement had been 
added as a finishing touch to the modern 
room. 

We put up a steel beam, sheathed in, 
across the ceiling, to relieve the old truss 
from duty; had four doors made duplicates 
of those found in the house, and hung them 
each in the old-fashioned leaf style, to open 
singly or in pairs. We built a corner cup- 
board to cover up the scars left by taking 
down the chimney-breast, its upper door 
an old window, its lower an old hand-made 
door found in the house; wainscotted the 
room to match the hall; put on a paper 
copied from an old buff brocade, and thus 
completed the tour of our chimney, with 
hall, living-room or tap-room, and a front 
room dainty enough to suit the most fastid- 
ious, and thus carrying the arrangement 
back to the old tavern days. 



Upstairs across the front of the house 
were three rooms, two of which were sep- 
arated by a hinged partition, which, when 
raised, was firmly secured to the ceiling by 
large hand-wrought iron hooks. It was 
discovered one day that the second parti- 
tion was modern. That, of course, meant 
its downfall. Without it, we now have a 
room between forty-five and fifty feet long, 
divided in the centre by the swinging par- 
tition. The fronts of old seats running 
round one-half of this room were found fast- 
ened back against the wall. These were 
easily restored to position, and furnished 
with hinged covers, as were formerly used. 
In this hall were situated two fireplaces, one 
small and the other of more generous pro- 
portions, with a fine mantel. This room 
contained nine windows, seven across the 
front. These windows, like all the others 
in the house, had small, square panes with 
hand-made sashes. All the woodwork 
throughout the house was made and fin- 
ished by hand. 

Another problem we had to meet was the 
method of lighting the house. Of course we 
sighed for candle-light, but realized it was 




View showing front room, with corner cupboard, folding doors, and one end of the old tap-room 



i9 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



impracticable. Lamps were not consid- 
ered quite safe, for various reasons, while 
gas or electricity seemed much too modern. 
The question was definitely settled by a gift 
old brass brackets of sufficient number 
to furnish light for the large upper hall. 
These brackets were antique oil-lamps, 
with pear-shaped globes, that had already 
been changed for electricity. Later, an- 
other gift of five old brass lamps and two 
of bronze reconciled us still more to the 
use of electricity. We then found pewter 
lamps, iron and brass candlesticks, which 
we pressed into service, hanging an old lan- 
tern from the kitchen rafters, making a very 
picturesque appearance. The electricians 
found, when they attempted to wire the 
house, that the walls were literally stuffed 
with corn-cobs. Whether placed there by 
human hands or dragged there by rats 
never will be known. After a long search 
for the right thing, a two-tone gray paper 
forming a continuous picture was hung on 
the walls, and the floor was painted yellow 
and waxed. The bedroom opening out of 
the hall contains a " four-poster " known to 
have once been the property of the wife 
of Capt. Jonathan Spalding. The netted 
canopy and home-spun quilt are genuine 
"antiques," loaned by members of the 
Chapter. 



The Spalding House was formally opened 
on the eighteenth of December last. The 
President- General of the National Society, 
Daughters of the American Revolution, 
Mrs. Donald McLean, was present and 
made a most eloquent address. The asso- 
ciation of the Free Masons of Lowell, which 
subscribed generously towards the restora- 
tion and preservation of the house as a 
memorial to Dr. Joel Spalding, was rep- 
resented on the program by Mr. C. C. 
Hutchinson. The room on the right of the 
front hall has been set aside as a Spalding 
Memorial Room. Over the mantel will 
be placed a brass tablet, designed and exe- 
cuted by Mr. Laurin Martin, with the fol- 
lowing inscription: "This room is dedicated 
to the memory of Brother Joel Spalding, 
M.D., by the Free Masons of Lowell." 
The original paper remains on the walls of 
this room, and the Windsor chair which 
stands by the fireplace also belonged in the 
house. 

The Molly Varnum Chapter, named for 
the wife of Major- General Joseph Bradley 
Varnum of Dracut, was formed in 1894 by 
Mrs. Frederic T. Greenhalge. It now con- 
sists of two hundred and twenty-five mem- 
bers, and has already done much in the 
active patriotic work of the Daughters of 
the American Revolution. 



NATURE'S ALL SAINTS' DAY 

By J. C. CROWELL 



When trees have given up their leaves, — 

The russet, yellow, scarlet-hued, 
In sore bereavement each one grieves, 

Bewailing oft her solitude. 
Witch-hazel shrines then keep the day, 

All Saints, in memory of these dead; 
Along their spreading branches sway, 

When mystic Hallowe'en hath fled, 
Pale yellow tapers, burning slow, 

That breathe an incense pungent, sweet; 
Nor but the day: they flicker low 

Thro' Indian Summer's sad retreat, 
Till from the hills she lifts the haze; 

Then vanish. Now stand desolate 
The shrines, deserted thro' long days. 

They, too, for Nature's Easter wait! 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



By HOLMAN F. DAY 



IX. THE HA'NT OF THE UMCOLCUS 




ADE, blinking the big flakes 
out of his eyes as he breasted 
the swirling storm, came across 
to the main camp from the 
wangan, his pipe and tobacco- 
pouch in hand. He rejoiced in his heart to 
see the snow driving so thickly that the 
camp window was only a blur of yellow light 
smudging the whiteness. This third storm 
of the winter promised two feet on a level 
and guaranteed the slipping on ram-downs 
and twitch-roads . 

The cheer of the storm permeated all the 
camp on Enchanted. The cook beamed on 
Wade with floury face. The bare ground 
had meant bare shelves. He predicted the 
first supply-team for the morrow. He had 
been thriftily "making a mitten out of a 
mouse's ear" for several weeks, on the food 
question. Tommy Eye, plowing back from 
his good-night visit to the horse-hovel, pro- 
claimed his general pleasure for two rea- 
sons: no more bare-ground dragging for 
the bob-sleds; no more too liberal dosing 
of bread dough with soap to make the flour 
"spend" in lighter loaves. "Eats like wind 
and tastes like a laundry," Tommy had 
grumbled. 

The boss of the choppers moved along to 
give Wade the end of the "deacon seat," 
and grinned amiably. 

"That's a cheerful old song she's singin' 
overhead to-night," he remarked. 

It needed a lumberman's interpretation 
to give it cheer. 

There were far groanings — there were 
near sighings. There were silences when 
the soft rustle of the snow against the win- 
dow-glass made all the sound. There were 
sudden, tempestuous descents of the wind 
that rattled the panes and made the throat 
of the open stove "whummle" like a neigh- 
ing horse. 

Wade lighted his pipe with deep, content. 
He enjoyed the rude fraternity of the big 



camp. There was but little garrulity. Those 
who talked did so in that drawling mono- 
tone that was keyed properly to the mono- 
tone of the soughing trees outside — el- 
bows on knees and eyes on the pole-floor. 
Clamor would not have suited that little 
patch of light niched in the black, brood- 
ing night pf the forest. But there was com- 
fort within. The blue smoke from pipe- 
bowls curled up and mingled with the shad- 
ows dancing against the low roof. The 
woolens, hung to dry on the long poles, 
draped the dim openings of the bunks. The 
"spruce feathers" within were still fresh, 
and resinous odors struggled against the 
more athletic fragrance of the pipes. 

Most of the men loafed along the "dea- 
con seat," relaxed in the luxury of laziness 
for that precious three hours between sup- 
per and nine o'clock. A few, bending for- 
ward to catch the light from the bracket- 
lamp, whittled patiently at what lumber- 
men call "doodahs" — odd little toys des- 
tined for some best girl or admiring young- 
ster at home. "Windy" McPheters regaled 
those with an ear for music by cheerful 
efforts on his mouth-harp, coming out 
strong on the tremolo and jigging the heel 
of his moccasined foot for time. And when 
he had no more breath left, "Hitchbiddy" 
Wagg sang, after protracted persuasion, the 
only song he knew — though one song of 
that character ought to suffice for any man's 
musical attainments. 

Its length may be understood when it is 
stated that it detailed all the campaigns of 
the first Napoleon, and "Hitchbiddy" sang 
it doubled forward, his elbows on his crossed 
knees, and the toe of his moccasin flapping 
for the beat. He came down "the stretch" 
on the last verse with vigor and expression: 

"Next at Waterloo those Frenchmen fought, 
Commanded by brave Bonaparte [pronounced 

'paught'] 
Assisted by Field Marshal Ney — 

193 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



He never was bribed by gold. 
But when Grouchy let the Prussians in 
It broke Napoleon's heart within. 
'Where are my thirty thousand men? 

Alas, stranger, for I am sold. ' 
He led one gallant charge across, 
Saying, 'Alas, brave boys, I fear 't is lost.' 

The field was in confusion with dead and dy- 
ing woes. 
When the bunch of roses did advance, 
The English entered into France — 

The grand Conversation (sic) of Napoleon 
arose . " 

To signal that the song was done, "Hitch- 
biddy" dropped the tune on the last line 
and in calm, direct, matter-of-fact recitative 
announced that "the grand Conversation 
of Napoleon arose." In the fifty years dur- 
ing which that song has been sung in the 
Maine lumber-camps no one has ever dis- 
played the least curiosity as to that last line. 
Away back, somewhere, a singer twisted a 
nice, fat word of the original song, and it 
has stayed twisted. 

"Hitchbiddy's" most rapt listener was 
Foolish Abe of the Skeets. The shaggy 
giant squatted behind the stove beside the 
pile of shavings he was everlastingly whit- 
tling for the cook-fire. It was the only task 
that Abe's poor wits could master, and he 
toiled at it unceasingly, paying thus and by 
a sort of canine gratitude for the food he re- 
ceived and the cast-off clothes tossed to him. 

A mumbled chorus of commendation 
followed the song. But the chopping-boss,- 
his humorous gaze on the witling, remarked : 

"I reckon I'll have to rule that song out, 
after this, Hitchbiddy." 

"What for?" demanded the amazed 
songster. 

"It seems to have a damaging and ca- 
vascacious effect on the giant intellect of 
Perfessor Skeet," remarked the boss, with 
fine irony. "Look at him!" 

Abe was on his knees, stretching up his 
neck and twitching his head from side to 
side with the air of an agitated fowl. 

"We'll make it a rule after this to have 
only common songs — like Larry Gor- 
man's," continued the boss, with a quizzi- 
cal glance at the woodsman poet. "These 
high operas are too thrillin'." 

But those who stared at Abe promptly 
saw that his attention was not fixed on mat- 
ters within, but without. 

"He heard something," muttered one of 
the men. "He's got ears like a cat, any 
way." 



If the giant had heard something it was 
plain that he heard it again, for he dropped 
his knife and scrambled to his feet. 

"Me go! Yes!" he roared, gutturally; 
and, obeying some mysterious summons, 
his precipitateness hinting that he recog- 
nized its authority, he ran out of the camp. 

"Catch that fool!" yelled the boss; but 
the first of those who tumbled out into the 
dingle after him were not quick enough. 
The night and the swirling storm had swal- 
lowed him. A few zealous pursuers ran a 
little way, trying to follow his tracks, lost 
them, and came back for lanterns. 

"It's no use, Mr. Wade," advised the 
boss. "He 's got the strength of a mule and 
the legs of an ostrich. The men will only 
be takin' chances for nothin'. He's gone 
clean out of his head, and there's no tell- 
in' when he'll stop." 

And Wade regretfully gave orders to 
abandon the chase. He and the others 
stood for a time gazing about them into the 
storm, now sifting thicker and swirling more 
wildly. He was oppressed by the happen- 
ing, as though he had seen some one leap 
to death. What else could a human being 
hope for in that waste ? 

"He's as tough as a bull moose and as 
used to bein' outdoors," remarked the boss, 
consolingly. "When he's had his run he'll 
smell his way back." 

Teamster Tommy Eye was the most per- 
sistent pursuer. He came in stamping off 
the snow after all the others had reassem- 
bled in the camp to talk the case over. 

"Did ye hear it?" demanded Tommy. 
"I did, and I run like a tiger so I could say 
that at last I 'd seen one. But I did n't see 
it. I only heard it." 

"What?" asked Wade, amazed. 

"The ha'nt," said Tommy. "I've al- 
ways wanted to see one. I was first out and 
I heard it." 

"What did it sound like?" gasped one of 
the men, his superstition glowing in his 
eyes. 

"It's bad luck forever to try to make a 
noise like a ha'nt," said Tommy, with de- 
cision. "Not will I meddle with its business 
— no, s'r. 'T would come forme next. Take 
a lucivee, an Injun devil, a bob-sled runner 
on grit, and the gabble of a loon, mix 'em 
together, and set 'em, and skim off the 
cream of the noise, and it would be some- 
thing like the loo-hoo of a ha'nt. It's awful 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



i95 



on nerves. I reckon I'll take a pull at the 
old T. D." He rammed his pipe-bowl with 
a finger that trembled visibly. 

"I've seen one," declared positively the 
man who had inquired in regard to the 
sound. "I've seen one, but I never heard 
one holler. I did n't know it was a ha'nt 
till I'd seen it half a dozen times." 

"Good eye!" sneered Tommy. "What 
did it, have to come up and introduce itself 
ind say, ' Please, Mister Macintosh, I 'm a 
tia'nt'?" 

"I've seen one, I say," insisted the man, 
sullenly. "I was teamin' for the Blaisdell 
brothers on their Telos operation, and I 
;ee it every day for most a week. It walked 
ihead of my team close to the bushes side 
)f the road, and it was like a man, and it 
lways turned off the same place and went 
nto the woods." 

"Do you call that a ha'nt — a man 

calkin' 'longside the road in daylight — 

ome hump-backed old spruce-gum pick- 

r?" demanded Tommy. 

"The last time I see it, I noticed that it 

id n't leave any tracks," declared the nar- 

ator. "It walked right along on the light 

now and did n't leave any tracks. Funny 

did n't notice that before, but I did n't." 

"You sartingly ain't what the dictionary 

mild set down as a hawk-eyed critter," 

pmarked Tommy, maliciously. "It must 

lave been kind of discouragin', ha'ntin' 

u." 

"It was a ha'nt," insisted the man, with 

Le same doggedness. " I got off'n my team 

ght then and there and got a bill of my 

me and left, and the man that took my 

ace got sluiced by the snub-line bustin' 

id about three thousand feet of spruce 

ellered the eternal daylights out of him. 

ly what you 're a mind to — I saw a thing 

iat walked on light snow and did n't make 

acks, and I left, and that feller got sluiced 

everybody in these woods knows that a 

ller got killed on Telos two winters ago." 

"Oh, there's ha'nts," agreed Tommy, 

rnestly. "Mebbe you saw one; only you 

t at your story kind of back-ended." 

The old teamster had been watching in- 

edulity settle on the face of Dwight Wade, 

id this heresy in one to whom his affections 

d attached touched his sensitiveness. 

"You are probably thinkin' what most 

the city folks say out loud to us, Mr. 

ade," he went on, humbly. "They say 



there ain't any such thing as ha'nts in the 
woods. It would be easy to say there ain't 
any bull moose here because they ain't also 
seen walkin' down a city street and lookin' 
into store windows. But I 'd like to see one 
of those city folks try to sleep in the camp 
that 's built over old Jumper Joe's grave 
north of Sourdnaheunk." 

There was a general mumble of endorse- 
ment. It became evident to Wade that the 
crew of the Enchanted were pretty staunch 
adherents of the supernatural. 

"Hitchbiddy" Wagg cleared his throat 
and sang for the sake of verification: 

"He rattled underneath, and he rattled overhead; 

Never in my life was I ever scared so ! 
And I did not dast to lay down in that bed 

Where they laid out old Joe. " 

"They can't use that place for anything 
but a depot camp now," stated Tommy; 
"and it's a wonder to me that they can even 
get pressed hay to stay there over night." 

"Well, from what I know of human na- 
ture," smiled Wade, "I should think that 
hay and provisions would stay better over 
night in a haunted camp than in one with- 
out that protection." 

He rapped out his pipe-ashes on the 
hearth of the stove and rose to go. 

"And don't you believe that it was a 
ha'nt that called out Foolish Abe?" asked 
Tommy, eager to make a convert. "You 
saw that for yourself, Mr. Wade." 

"I am afraid to think of what may have 
happened to that poor creature," replied 
Wade, earnestly, looking into the black 
night through the door that he had opened. 
He heard, the chopping-boss call, "Nine! 
Turn in!" as he strove with the storm be- 
tween the main camp and the wangan, and 
when he stamped into his own shelter the 
yellow smudge winked out behind him — 
such is the alacrity of a sleepy woods crew. 
He shuddered as he shut out the blackness. 
He had no superstition, but the unaccount- 
able flight of the witling, and the eerie tales 
offered in explanation, and the mystic night 
of storm in that wild forest waste unstrung 
him. He went to sleep, finding comfort in 
the dull glow of the lantern that he left 
lighted. 

Its glimmer in his eyes when the cook 
called shrilly in the gray dawn, " Grub on 
ta-a-abe!" sent his first thoughts to the 
wretch who had abandoned himself to the 



196 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



storm. He hoped to find Abe whittling 
shavings in the cook-house. 

"No, s'r, no sign of him, hide nor hair," 
said the cook, shaking his head. "Reckon 
the ha'nt flew high with him." 

The snow still sifted through the trees — 
a windless storm now. The forest was track- 
less. 

"For a man to start out in the woods in 
that storm was like jumpin' into a hole and 
pullin' the hole in after him," observed the 
chopping-boss. That remark might have 
served as the obituary of poor Abe Skeet. 
The swampers, the choppers, the sled- 
tenders, the teamsters, trudging away to 
their work, had their minds full of their du- 
ties and their mouths full of other topics 
during the day. 

And all day the cook bleated his cheer- 
ful little prophecy in the ears of the cookee: 
"The tote-team will be in by night." That 
morning, with his rolling-pin he had pound- 
ed "hungryman's ratty-too" on the bottom 
of the last flour-barrel to shake out enough 
for his batch of biscuit, and burned up the 
barrel even though the pessimistic cookee 
predicted that "the human nail-kags" 
would eat both kitchen mechanics if the 
food gave out. 

At nightfall Dwight Wade surveyed the 
bare shelves of the cook-camp with some 
misgivings. 

"Don't you worry," advised the master 
of that domain. "Rod Ide ain't waitin' 
three weeks for good slippin' jest for the 
sake of settin' in his store window and sing- 
in' 'Beautiful snow!' He's got a load of 
supplies started, and they're due here to- 
night and — " the cook paused, kicked at 
the cookee for slamming the stove-cover 
at that crucial moment of listening, and 
shrilled — "there she blows!" 

Wade heard the jangle of bells and hast- 
ened to meet the dim bulk of the loaded 
sled. The driver did not reply to his delight- 
ed hail; but before he had time to wonder 
at that taciturnity some one struggled out 
of the folds of a shrouding blanket and 
sprang from the sled. It was a woman, 
and while he stood and stared at her she 
ran to him and grasped his hands and clung 
to him in pitiful abandonment of grief. It 
was Nina Ide. In the dim light Wade could 
see tears on her cheeks and the heart-broken 
woe in her features. He had had some ex- 
perience with the self-poise of the daughter 



of Rodburd Ide. This emotion, which 
checked with sobs the words in her throat, 
frightened him. 

"It's a terrible thing, and I don't under- 
stand it, Mr. Wade," quavered the driver. 
He slipped down from the load and came 
and stood beside them. "We was in Pogej 
Notch and the wind was blowin' pretty hard' 
there, and I told the young ladies they'd! 
better cover their heads with the blankets. 
And I pulled the canvas over me 'cause the! 
snow stung so, and I did n't see it when ilj 
happened — and I don't understand it." 

"When what happened?" Wade gasped' 

"They took her — whatever they was,' 
stated the driver, in awed tones. "I did n'lj 
see 'em nor hear 'em take her. And I don' 1 1 
know jest where we was when they tool 
her. I went back and hunted, but it was n' j 
any use. They was gone, and her with 'emi 
They was n't humans, Mr. Wade. It wail 
black art, that's what it was." 

"Probably," said Tommy Eye, with deej[ 
conviction. He had led the group that cam< 
out of the camp to greet the tote-team I 
"There were ha'nts here last night. The; 
got Foolish Abe." 

"They sartinly seem to mean the Skeei 
family this time," said the driver. "It wa 
that Skeet girl — the pretty one that' 
called Kate — that they got off 'n my team, 

The men of the camp, surrounding th 
new arrivals, surveyed Nina Ide with n 
spectful but eager curiosity. 

"If I was a ha'nt," growled the choppinj 
boss, " and had my pick I reckon I 'd hav 
shown better judgment." His remark wa 
strictly sotto voce, and the girl did not h 
it. She still clung to Wade. Her agitatio 
communicated itself to him. A sense c 
calamity told him that there was troub' 
deeper than the disappearance of the wai 
of the Skeet tribe. 

Her words confirmed his suspicion. " M 
God, what are we going to do, Mr. Wade ? ! 
she sobbed. "I planned it, I encourage 
her. It was wild, imprudent, reckless, 
ought to have realized it. But I knew ho^i 
you felt toward her. I wanted to help hej 
and — and you!" 

Something in the cowering horror in he! 
wide-open eyes told him plainly now tha 
this could not be merely the question of th 
loss of the girl of the Skeet tribe. And wit 
that conviction growing out of bewildere 
doubt, he went with her when she led hii 






OLD KING SPRUCE 



197 



away toward the office camp. A suspicion 
wild as a nightmare flamed before him. 
In the wangan she faced him, as woe- 
stricken, as piteously afraid, as though she 
were confessing a crime against him. 

"It was John Barrett's daughter on that 
team with me," she choked. "She wanted 
to come — but I'll be honest with you, Mr. 
Wade. She would not have come if I had 
not encouraged her — yes, put the idea into 
her head and the means into her hands. 
I've been a fool, Mr. Wade, but I'll not be 
a coward and lie about my responsibility." 
He gazed at her, his face ghastly white in 
■ the lantern-light. 

"She wanted to — she was coming here 
t ; — she is lost ?" he mumbled, as though try- 
\ j ing to fathom a mystery. 
1 1 Infinite pity replaced the distraction in 
■ the girl's face. 

"Forgive me, Mr. Wade!" she cried. 
"Not for my folly — you cannot overlook 
that. Forgive me for wasting these precious 
moments. But I did not know how to say 
it to you." She put her woman's weakness 
from her, though the struggle was a mighty 
one, and her features showed it. "I will 
not waste any more words, Mr. Wade. 
John Barrett has been at my father's house 
for weeks. He has been near death — he 
is near death now, but the big doctors from 
the city say that he will get well. He must 
have been through some terrible trouble in 
the woods up here." 

She looked at him with questioning gaze, 
,1 as though to ask how much he knew of the 
J (trouble that had prostrated John Barrett, 

fhe stumpage-king. 
J 1 "He was near death — and his exposure 
, — " stammered Wade, but she went on, 
4 (hurriedly. 

J "It was fever, and it affected his head, 
jMr. Wade, and he talked much in delirium, 
i| land his daughter came from the city, and 
a jshe has nursed him and she has heard him 
t [talking, talking, talking, all the time — 
J talking about you and how you saved his 
ife from the fire; talking about a woman 
ho is dead and a man who is alive and a 
irl — " 
"Does Lyde Barrett — know?" he de- 
nanded, hoarsely. 

"It was too plain not to be known — 
ifter she saw that girl, Mr. Wade. The 
irl was there at our house — she is there 
low. It is n't all clear to us yet. We have 






only the ravings of a sick man — and the 
face of that girl. Father does not under- 
stand all of it, either. But he knows that 
you do, although you have not told him." 
She clutched her trembling hands to hold 
them steady. "And he has talked and 
talked of other things, Mr. Wade — the 
sick man has. He has said that you have 
his reputation, and his prospects, and the 
happiness of his family, all in your hands, 
and that you are waiting to ruin him be- 
cause he has abused you; and he has tossed 
in his bed and begged some one to come to 
you and promise you — buy you — coax 
you — " 

"It is a cursed lie — infernal, though a 
sick man has babbled it," Wade cried, 
heart-brokenly. " It holds me up as a black- 
mailer, Miss Nina. It makes me seem a 
wretch in her eyes. She cannot believe such 
things of me. And yet — was she — she 
was coming here thinking I was that kind 
— coming here to beg for her father?" he 
demanded. 

"We — I — oh, I don't like to tell you 
we believed that of you," the girl sobbed. 
"No, I did n't believe it. But if you had 
only heard him lying there talking, talking! 
And you were the one that he seemed to 
fear. And we thought if you knew of it you 
would not want him to worry that way. 
And if we could carry back some word of 
comfort from you to him! — She wanted to 
come to you, Mr. Wade, and I encouraged 
her and helped her to come — because — 
because," the girl caught her breath in a 
long sob, and cried, "she loves you, Mr. 
Wade; and I have pitied you and her ever 
since that day in the train when I found out 
about it." 

It was not a moment in which to analyze 
emotions. Nina Ide in her ingenuous dec- 
laration of Lyde Barrett's motives in seek- 
ing him in the north woods had made his 
heart blaze with joy for an instant. For 
that instant he forgot the shame of the base- 
less babblings of the sick man — the aw- 
ful mystery of Lyde Barrett's disappearance. 
The blow of it — that Lyde Barrett was 
gone — that she was somewhere in those 
great woods alone, or worse than alone, had 
stunned him at first. Groping out of that 
misery, striving to realize what it meant, he 
had faced first the hideous realization that 
she might believe him to be a despicable 
retaliator; then had burst into the dazzling 



198 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



hope that Lyde Barrett so loved him that 
she adventured — imprudently and reck- 
lessly, but none the less bravely — in order 
to make her love known. Then over all 
swept the black bitterness of the ca- 
lamity. 

"But you must have some suspicion — ■ 
some hint of how she was taken, or how 
she went," he cried. "In the name of the 
good God above us, Miss Nina, think! 
think! You heard some outcry ! There was 
some hidden rock or stump to jar the sled. 
The man did not search back along the 
road far enough. She must be lost — lost! 
Merciful Christ, it makes me want to shriek 
for the horror of it!" 

"There was no cry, Mr. Wade. And I 
went back with the man. We searched, we 
called — we even went as far as the place 
where we covered ourselves with the blan- 
kets. We could find no tracks — and the 
snow was driving and sifting. The man 
does n't know it is Lyde Barrett," she 
added. 

He remembered suddenly the driver's 
statement as to his passenger. 

"She came in Kate Arden's clothes," 
confided the girl. "Those who saw her 
ride out of Castonia Mr. Wade, thought 
it was Kate Arden. And Kate Arden in 
Lyde Barrett's dress is sitting now beside 
John Barrett, holding his hand, for noth- 
ing except his daughter's hand and his 
daughter's face has soothed him. He thinks 
it is his daughter beside him. They are so 
like, Kate and Lyde. We waited until we 
had made sure. It was I who thought of 
the plan. Then it could not be said that 
John Barrett's daughter had come seeking 
Dwight Wade." 

Even in the stress of his feelings he could 
still feel gratitude for the subterfuge that 
checked the tongues of gossip. 

"I wish father had more authority over 
me," sobbed the girl; "he wouldn't have 
let us come on such a crazy errand, if I 
had n't bossed him into it." The lament 
was so guilelessly feminine that Wade put 
aside his own woe, for the moment, to think 
of the girl's distress. 

"This will be your home until I can send 
you back, Miss Nina," he said, gently. "I 
will have old Christopher bring in your 
supper and mend your fire." 

"And about her, Mr. Wade?" she cried. 

"I'm going," he said, simply, but with 



such earnestness that her eyes flooded with 
tears. 

He found a lively conference in progress 
in the main camp. 

Tommy Eye was doing the most of the 
talking, and it was plain that his opinions 
carried weight, for no one presumed to gain- 
say. 

"And I'll say to you what I'm tellin' to 
them here, Mr. Wade," continued the team- 
ster. "You saw for yourself what hap- 
pened here last night. A ha'nt done it. 
And the ha'nt done this last. They're pick- 
in' Skeets right and left." 

"Ha'nt must be in the pay of Pulaski D. 
Britt," remarked one rude joker. "He's 
been the one most interested in gettin' the 
tribe out of this section." 

Dwight Wade, love and awful fear raging 
in his heart, was in no mood to play dilettante 
with the supernatural, nor to relish jokes. 

"We'll have done with this foolishness, 
men," he cried, harshly. "A girl has been 
lost in these woods." He was protecting 
Lyde Barrett's incognito by a mighty effort 
of self-repression. The agony of his soul 
prompted him to leap, shouting, down the 
tote-road, calling her name and crying his 
love and his despair. "I want this crew to 
beat the woods and find her. " 

"She can't ever be found," growled a 
prompt rebel. "I heard the driver tell. 
She was picked right up and lugged off.j 
There ain't any of us got wings." 

"Oh, you've got to admit that there are 
ha'nts," persisted Tommy, with fine relish 
for his favorite topic. "And they pick up 
people. I see one in the shape of a tree 
pick up an ox once and break his neck." 

"Damn you for drooling idiots!" raved 
Wade, beside himself. In oaths and brutal 
insults he found the only outlet for the 
storm of his feelings. 

He ordered them to get lanterns and start! 
on the search — he strode among them with 
brandished fists and whirling arms, and 
they dodged from in front of him, goggling 
their amazement. 

"My Gawd," mourned Tommy, "thisj 
camp has had the spell put on it for sure.; 
The ha'nt has driv the boss out of his head.i 
and will have him next. And if It can drive 
a college man out of his head what chance: 
has the rest of us got?" 

Panic was writ large in the faces of the 
simple woodsmen, and fear glittered 






OLD KING SPRUCE 



199 



their eyes. A single queer circumstance 
would merely have set them to wondering; 
but these unexplainable events, following 
each other so rapidly and taking ominous 
shade from the glass that lugubrious Tom- 
my Eye held over them, shook them out of 
self-poise. It needed but one voice to cry, 
"The place is accurst!" to precipitate a 
rout, and old Christopher Straight had the 
woodsman's keen scent for trouble of this 
sort. 

"A moment! A moment, Mr. Wade!" 
he called. He patted the young man's el- 
bow and urged him toward the door. "I 
want to speak to you. Keep quiet, my men, 
and go in to your supper." 

As he passed the cook-house door he 
sharply ordered the cook to sound the de- 
layed call — the cook being then engaged 
in discussing with the chopping-boss and 
the cookee a certain "sidehill lounger," a 
ha'nt that wrought vast mischief of old 
along Ripogenus gorge. 

"Mr. Wade," advised the old man, when 
they were apart from the camp, "I'm sorry 
to see you get so stirred up over the Skeet 
girl, for I don't believe she appreciates your 
kindness. I have this matter pretty well 
settled in my own mind. I don't know just 
why Miss Nina is up here, nor why she has 
brought that girl back — or tried to. It is 
plain, though, that the girl has deceived her." 

"I don't understand," quavered Wade, 
struggling between his own knowledge and 
old Christopher's apparent certainty. 

"The Skeet girl, having her own reasons 
for wanting to come this way from Castonia, 
got as far as Pogey Notch, slipped off the 
team, and has made her way to Britt's camp 
on Jerusalem to join Colin MacLeod. It 's 
all a put-up job, Mr. Wade, and they've 
simply done what they set out to do in the 
first place, when Britt and his crew fol- 
lowed John Barrett and me to Durfy's. So 
I would n't worry any more about the girl, 
Mr. Wade. Let her stay where she plainly 
wants to stay." 

Wade blurted the truth without pausing 
to weigh consequences. He bitterly needed 
an adviser. Old Christopher's calm con- 
fidence in his theory pricked him. 

"Great God, man, it is n't the Skeet girl! 
It is John Barrett's daughter — his daugh- 
ter Lyde!" 

For a moment Christopher gasped his 
amazement. 



"There have been strange things hap- 
pening outside since we've been locked in 
here away from the news," the young man 
went on, excitedly. "It is Lyde Barrett, I 
tell you, Christopher, and she has been 
stolen." 

"Then it's a part of the plot — some- 
how — some way," insisted the old man. 
"Colin MacLeod, or some one interested 
for Colin MacLeod, saw that girl and took 
her for the Skeet girl. I have never seen 
Lyde Barrett, but you have told me that 
the Skeet girl is her spittin' image — or 
words to that effect," corrected the old 
guide. 

"And she was dressed in Kate Arden's 
clothes! " groaned Wade, remembering Nina 
Ide's little scheme of deception. 

"Then she's at Britt's camp — mistaken 
for the Skeet girl, as I said," declared 
Straight, with conviction. 

"But hold on! " he cried, grasping Wade's 
arm as the young man was about to rush 
back into the camp, "that's no way to go 
after that girl — hammer and tongs, mob 
and ragtag. In the first place, Mr. Wade, 
those men in there are in no frame of mind 
to be led off into the night. I know woods- 
men. They 've been talkin' ha'nts till they 're 
ready to jump ten feet high if you shove a 
finger at 'em. This is no time for an army 
— an army of that calibre. They know well 
enough now at Britt's camp that it is n't 
Kate Arden. And I'll bet they're pretty 
frightened now that they realize who they 
do have. It's a simple matter, Mr. Wade. 
I '11 go to Britt's camp and get the young 
lady.- I'll go now on snow-shoes and take 
the moose-sled, and I'll be back sometime 
to-morrow all safe and happy." 

"I'll go with you," declared Wade. 

"It isn't best," protested the old man. 
"I have no quarrel with Colin MacLeod. 
It means deep and serious trouble if you 
show in sight there without your men be- 
hind you." 

"But I'm going," insisted Wade, with 
such positiveness that old Christopher 
merely sighed. "I'll let you go into the 
camp alone," allowed Wade, "for I am not 
fool enough to seek trouble for the mere pur- 
pose of finding it; but I'll be waiting for you 
up the tote-road with the moose-sled, and 
I'll haul her home here out of that hell." 

"I can't blame you for wantin' to play 
hoss for her," said the woodsman, with a 



200 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



little malice in his humor. "And if she is 
like most girls she'll be willin' to have you 
do it." 

Ten minutes later the two were away 
down the tote-road. They made no an- 
nouncement of their destination except to 
Nina Ide, whom they left intrenched in the 
wangan — a woods maiden who felt per- 
fectly certain of the chivalry of the men of 
the woods about her. 

The storm was over, but the heavens 
were still black. Wade dragged the moose- 
sled, walking behind old Christopher in the 
little patch of radiance that the lantern 
flung upon the snow. Treading ever and 
ever on the same whiteness in that little 
circle of radiance, it seemed to Wade that 
he was making no progress, but that the big 
trees were silently crowding their way past 
like spectres, and that he, for all his passion 
of fear and foreboding, simply lifted his 
feet to make idle tracks. The winds were 
still, and the only sounds were the rasping 
of the snow-covered legs of the snow-shoers 
and the soft thuddings of snow-chunks 
dropped from the limbs of overladen trees. 

In the first gray of the morning, swinging 
off the tote-road and down into the depths 
of Jerusalem Valley, they at last came upon 
the scattered spruce-tops and fresh chips 
that marked the circle of Britt's winter's 
operation. 

The young man's good sense rebuked his 
rebelliousness when Christopher took the 
cord of the sled and bade him wait where he 
was. 

"I don't blame you for feeling that way," 
said the old man, interpreting Wade's word- 
less mutterings; "but the easiest way is al- 
ways the best way. If she is there she will 
want to come with me to where Miss Ide is 
waiting for her — and the word of the 
young lady will be respected. I'm afraid 
your word would n't be — not with Colin 
MacLeod," he added, grimly. 

And yet Dwight Wade watched the lan- 
tern-light flicker down the valley with a 
secret and shamed feeling that he was a 
coward not to be the first to hold out hand 
of succor to the girl he loved. That he had 
to wait hidden there in the woods while 
another represented him chafed his spirit 
until he strode about and snarled at the 
reddening east. 

At last the waiting became agony. The 
sun came up, its light quivering through the 



snow-shrouded spruces. Below him in the 
valley he heard teamsters yelping at floun- 
dering horses, the grunting "Hup ho!" of 
sled-tenders, and the chick-chock of axes. 
It was evident that the visit of Christopher 
Straight had not created enough of a sen- 
sation to divert Pulaski Britt's men from 
their daily toil. Wade's hurrying thoughts 
would not allow his common sense to ex- 
cuse the old man's continued absence. To 
go — to tear Lyde Barrett from that hate- 
ful and polluting environment — to rush 
back — what else was there for Straight to 
do ? In the end, the goads of apprehension 
were driving him down the trail toward the 
camp, regardless of consequences. 

But when, at that first turn, he saw Chris- 
topher plodding toward him, he ran back 
in sudden tremor. He wanted a moment's 
time. It occurred to him that he had not 
paused to consider what should be his first 
words to her. The old man came into sight 
again, near at hand, before W T ade had con- 
trol of the tumult of his thoughts. 

The sled was empty. 

Christopher scuffed along slowly, munch- 
ing a biscuit. 

"They wouldn't let her go? I — I 
thought they had made you stay — you 
were so long!" gasped the young man, 
trying by words of his own to calm his aw- 
ful dread. 

"She isn't there, Mr. Wade," said the 
old man, finishing his biscuit and speaking 
with an apparent calmness that maddened 
the young man. This old man, placidly 
wagging his jaws, seemed a part of the 
stolid indifference of the woods. 

"I brought you something to eat, Mr. 
Wade," Christopher went on. He fumbled 
at his breast pocket. "We've got tough 
work ahead of us. You can't do it on an 
empty stomach." 

"Almighty God, what are you saying, 
Straight?" demanded the young man. 
"They are lying to you. She is there. She 
must be there! There's no one — " 

"And I say she is n't there," insisted 
Christopher, with quiet firmness. "/ know 
what I'm talkin' about. You are only 
guessin'." 

"They lied to you to cover their guilt." 

"Mr. Wade, I know woodsmen better 
than you do. There are a good many 
things about Colin MacLeod that I don't 
like. But when it came to a matter of John 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



20I 



Barrett's daughter Colin MacLeod would 
be as square as you or I." 

"You told them it was John Barrett's 
daughter?" 

"I did not," said the old man, stoutly. 
"There was no need to. If it had been 
John Barrett's daughter she would have 
been queening it in those camps when I got 
there. She would n't have been a prisoner. 
But she was not there. She has n't been 
there. There has been no woman there. 
Colin MacLeod and his men did n't take 
Miss Barrett from that tote-team. And I've 
made sure of that point because I knew my 
men well enough to make sure. She is n't 
■there!" 

"There is no one else in all these woods 
[to molest her," declared Wade, brokenly. 

"No one knows just who and what are 
movin' about these woods," said Christo- 
pher, in solemn tones. "In forty years I 
have known things to happen here that no 
one has ever explained. Hold on, Mr. 
[Wade!" he cried, checking bitter outburst. 
|' u I'm not talkin' like Tommy Eye, either! 
I'm not talkin' about ha'nts now. But I 
pay strange things have happened in these 
woods — and a strange thing has happened 
:his time. Barrett's daughter is gone — 
las been taken. She did n't go off by her- 
self." He gazed helplessly about him, 
searching the avenues of the silent woods. 

"North or east, west or south!" he nurt- 
ured. "It's a big job for us, Mr. Wade! 
['m goin' to be honest with you. I don't 
see into it. You'd better eat." 

The young man pushed the proffered 
:ood away. 

"You eat, I say," commanded old Chris- 
opher, snapping his gray eyes. "An empty 
jun and an empty man ain't either of 'em 
my good on a huntin'-trip." 

He started away, dragging the sled, and 
Wade struggled along after him, choking 
jlown the food. 

I When they had retraced their steps as far 
Is the Enchanted tote-road Christopher 
urned to the south and trudged toward 
Pogey Notch. The trail of the tote-team 
vas visible in hollows that the snow had 
yearly filled. The snow lay as it had fallen. 
Die tops of the great trees on either side 
If the road sighed and lashed and moaned 
p the wind that had risen at dawn. But 
>elow in the forest aisles it was quiet. 

Had not the wind been at their backs, 



whistling from the north, the passage of 
Pogey Notch would have proved a savage 
encounter. The stunted growth offered no 
windbreak. The great defile roared like a 
chimney-draught. As the summer winds 
had howled up the Notch, lashing the leafy 
branches of the birches and beeches, so 
now the winter winds howled down, harpists 
that struck dismal notes from the bare 
branches. The snow drove horizontally in 
stinging clouds. The quest for track, trail, 
or clue in that storm aftermath was waste 
of time. The drifting snow even made the 
sun look wan. But the old man kept stur- 
dily on, peering to right and left, searching 
with his eyes nook and cross-defile, until 
they came to Durfy's hovel, having traversed 
the Notch to its southern mouth. 

Christopher took refuge there, leaning 
against the log walls, and mused for a time 
without speaking. Then he bent shrewd 
glance on Wade from under puckered lids. 

"There's no tellin' what a lunatic will 
do next, is there?" he blurted, abruptly. 

Wade, failing to understand the applica- 
tion of this statement, stared at his ques- 
tioner. 

"I was thinkin' about that as we came 
past that place where ' Ladder' Lane trussed 
up John Barrett and left him, time of the 
big fire," the old man went on. "Comin' 
down the Notch sort of brought the thing 
up in my mind. It's quite a grudge that 
Lane has got against John Barrett and all 
that belongs to him." 

Wade was well enough versed in Chris- 
topher Straight's subtle fashion of express- 
ing his suspicions to understand him now. 

"By the gods, Straight, I believe you've 
hit it!" he panted. 

"I've been patchin' a few things together 
in my head," said the old man, modestly, 
"as a feller has to do when dealin' with 
woods matters. I've told you that queer 
things happen in the woods. When a num- 
ber of queer things happen you can fit 'em 
together, sometimes. Now there was n't any- 
thing queer at Britt's camps to fit into the 
rest. I came right on 'em sudden, and there 
was n't a ripple anywhere. I did n't go into 
details, Mr. Wade, in tellin' you why I knew 
Miss Barrett was n't there. It would have 
been wastin' time. But now take the queer 
things! Out goes Abe Skeet into the storm! 
Who would be mousin' around outside at 
that time of night except a lunatic — such 



202 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



as 'Ladder' Lane has turned into since the 
big fire ? You saw on Jerusalem how Lane 
could boss Abe — he jumped when Lane 
pulled the string." 

"I remember," cried Wade, eagerly. 
"The fool guarded that girl like a dog for 
twenty-four hours and never took his eyes 
off her — and it needed only a word from 
Lane to make him do it." 

"And it was Lane that called him out of 
our camp," said the old man. "No one 
else could do it — except that old Skeet 
grandmother. Lane has been in these woods 
ever since he abandoned the Jerusalem fire- 
station. He's no ordinary lunatic. He's 
cunnin'. He's only livin' now to nuss that 
grudge. Now see here." Christopher held 
up his fingers and bent them down one by 
one to mark his points. "He has ha'nted 
camps in this section to locate Abe Skeet. 
Knowed Abe Skeet could probably tell 
where Kate Arden had gone, Abe havin' 
been left to guard her. Called out Abe to go 
with him to get that girl back — maybe hav- 
in' heard that John Barrett got out of these 
woods scot-free and had dumped the girl 
off on some one else. Lane is lunatic enough 
to think he needs the girl to carry out his 
plan of revenge. And he does, if he means 
to take her outside and show her to the 
world as John Barrett's abandoned daugh- 
ter, as it 's plain his scheme is. Lane and 
Abe started down toward Castonia. Heard 
tote-team and hid side of road — would 
naturally hide. Saw girl that looked like 
Kate Arden — even dressed in her clothes, 
I b'lieve you told me ? Followed the team, 
and when she covered herself in that blan- 
ket, as though to make herself into a pack- 
age ready for 'em, they grabbed her off the 
team before she had time to squawk. Had 
her ready muzzled and gagged, as you 
might say! Mr. Wade, as I told you, I've 
been patchin' things in my mind. I ain't a 
dime-novel detective nor anythin' of the 
sort, but I do know somethin' about the 
woods and who are in 'em and what they '11 
be likely to do, and I can't see anythin' 
far-fetched in the way I've figgered this." 

While his fears had been so hideously 
vague Wade had stumbled on behind his 
guide without hope, and with his thoughts 
whirling in his head as wildly as the snow- 
squalls whirled in Pogey. Now with definite 
point on which to hang his bitter fears he 
flung himself into a fury of activity. 



"We'll after them, Christopher!" he I 
shouted. "They've got her! It's just as 
you've figured it. They've got her! She 
will die of fright, man! I don't dare to 
think of it ! " He was rushing away. Chris- 
topher called to him. 

"Just which way was you thinkin' of 
goin'?" he asked, with mild sarcasm. "I; 
can put queer things together in my mind | 
so 's to make'em fit pretty well," went on the 
old man, "but jest which way to go chasm' 
a lunatic and a fool in these big woods ain't 
marked down on this snow plain enough so 
that I can see it." 

Wade, the cord of the moose-sled in his 
trembling hands, turned and stared dis-l 
mally at Straight. The old man slowly! 
came away from the hovel, his nose in the 
air, as though he were sniffing for inspiration. I 

"The nearest place," he said, thinking | 
his thoughts aloud, "would be to the fire 
station up there." He pointed his mittened i 
hand toward the craggy sides of Jerusalem. 
"They may have started hot-foot for the! 
settlement. Perhaps 'Ladder' Lane would | 
have done that if 'twas Kate Arden he'd 
got. But seein' as it's John Barrett's own 
daughter — " he paused and scruff ed his 
mitten over his ear. He stared into Wade's 
piteous face. "Knowin' what we do of the 
general disposition of old Lane, it's more 
reasonable to think that he ain't quite so 
anxious to deliver that particular package 
outside, seein' that he can twist John Bar- 
rett's heart out of him by keepin' her hid 
in these woods." 

The young man had no words. His face 
pictured his awful fears. 

"It's only guesswork at best, Mr. Wade 
said Christopher. "It's tough to think of 
climbin' to the top of Jerusalem on this day, 
but it seems to me it's up to us as men." 
They looked at each other a moment, and 
the look was both agreement and pledge. 
They began the ascent, quartering the 
snowy slope. The dogged persistence of 
the veteran woodsman animated the old 
man; love and desperation spurred the 
younger. The climb from bench to bench 
among the trees was an heroic struggle. 
The passage across the bare poll of the 
mountain in the teeth of the bitter blast was 
torture indescribable. And they staggered 
to the fire-station only to find its open door 
drifted with snow, its two rooms empty and 
echoing. 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



203 



"I was in hopes — in hopes!" sighed the 
old man, stroking the frozen sweat from his 
cheeks. " But I ain't a-goin' to give up here, 
sonny." Even Wade's despair felt the 
soothing encouragement in the old man's 
tone. 

"We've got to fetch Barnum Withee's 
camp on Lazy Tom before we sleep," said 
the guide. "There'll be somethin' to eat 
there. There may be news. We 've got to 
do it!" And they plodded on weariedly 
over the ledges and down the west descent. 

They made the last two miles by the 
light of their lantern, dragging their snow- 
shoes, one over the other, with the listless- 
ness of exhaustion. The cook of Withee's 
camp stared at them when they stumbled 
in at the door of his little domain, their 
snow-shoes clattering on the floor. He was 
a sociable cook, and he remarked cheerily, 
"Well, gents, I'm glad to see that you seem 
to be lookin' for a hotel instead of a horse- 
pittle." 

Not understanding the tenor of this 
genial remark, they bent to the latchets of 
their shoes without reply. 

"T'other one is in the horsepittle," said 
the cook, jerking his thumb over his shoul- 
der in direction of his bunk in the lean-to. 
"He was brought in. I've been lookin' for 
somethin' of the sort ever since he skipped 
from the Jerusalem station. Lunatics ain't 
fit to fool round in these woods," he chatted. 

"Who have you got in there ? " demanded 
Christopher, snapping up from his fum- 
bling at the rawhide strings. 

"Old 'Ladder' Lane," replied the cook, 
calmly. "Murphy's down-toter brought 
him in here just before dark. He's pretty 
bad. Froze up considerable. Toter heard 
him hootin' out in the swirl of snow on the 
Dickery pond and toled him ashore by 
hootin' back at him. No business tryin' to 
cross a pond in a day like this ! 'T ain't 
safe for a young man with all his wits, let 
alone an old one who has beat himself all 
out slam-bangin' round these woods this 
winter. 

"Yes, he's pretty bad. Done what I 
could for him, me and the cookee, by rub- 
bin' snow and ladlin' ginger-tea into him, 
but when it come supper-time them nail- 
kags of mine had to be 'tended to, and 
here's bread to mix for to-morrow mornin'. 
We don't advertise a horsepittle, gents, but 
you wait a minute and I'll scratch you up 



somethin' for supper. The horsepittle will 
have to run itself for a little while." 

Wade and the old man stared at each 
other stupidly while the cook bustled about 
his task. For the moment their thoughts 
were too busy to permit words. Even 
Christopher's whitening face showed the 
fear that had come upon him. 

" Guess old Lane was comin' out to get 
a letter onto the tote-team," chatted the 
cook. "I was lookin' through his coat after 
I got it off and found that one up there!" 

He nodded at a grimy epistle stuck in a 
crevice of the log, and went down into a 
barrel after doughnuts that he piled on a 
tin plate. 

Noiselessly Christopher strode to the 
log and took down the letter; he stared at 
the superscription and without a word dis- 
played the writing to Wade. It was ad- 
dressed to John Barrett at his city address. 
The cook was busy at the table. 
" By Cephas, this is our business! " gritted 
the old man; and turning his back on the 
cook, he ripped open the envelope. On a 
wrinkled leaf torn from an account-book 
was pencilled this message: 

"You took my wife. I've got your 
daughter. Damn you, crawl and beg!" 

"Look here, cook," called Straight, 
sharply, "there's bad business mixed up 
with Lane. Don't ask me questions." He 
flapped the open letter into the astonished 
face of the man to check his words. "We 've 
got to speak to Lane, and speak mighty 
quick." 

" He was in a sog when I put him to bed," 
said the cook. "Didn't know what, who, 
or where. They say lunatics want to be 
woke up careful. You let me go." He took 
a doughnut from the plate and started for 
the lean-to, grinning back over his shoul- 
der. "He may be ready to set up, take no- 
tice, and brace himself with a doughnut." 

The two men waited, eager, silent, ho- 
ping, fearing — each framing in his mind 
such appeal as might touch the heart of this 
revengeful maniac. 

They heard the cook utter a snort of sur- 
prise; then they saw the flame of a match 
shielded by his palms. A moment later he 
came out and stood looking at them with a 
singularly sheepish expression. 

"Gents," he blurted, "I'll be cussed if 
the joke ain't on me this time. I went in 
there to give the horsepittle patient a fresh- 



2o 4 NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 

laid doughnut to revive his droopin' heart, "Yes," said the cook, grimly; "but you 

and — " can't chase him on snow — not where he's 

"Is that man gone?" bawled Christo- gone. He's deader 'n the door-knob on a 

pher, reaching for his snow-shoes. hearse-house door." 



A LINE-STORM SONG 

By ROBERT FROST 

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, 

The road is forlorn all day, 
Where a myriad snowy quartz-stones lift 

And the hoof-prints vanish away; 
The roadside-flowers, too wet for the bee, 

Expend their bloom in vain. 
Come over the hills and far with me, 

And be my love in the rain. 

The birds have less to say for themselves, 

In the wood-world's torn despair, 
Than now these numberless years the elves, 

Although they are no less there; 
All song of the woods is hushed like some 

Wild, easily shattered rose. 
Come, be my love in the wet woods; come, 

Where the boughs rain when it blows. 

There is the gale to urge behind 

And bruit our singing down, 
And the shallow waters a-flutter with wind 

From which to gather your gown. 
What matter if we go clear to the west, 

And come not through dry-shod? 
For wilding brooch shall wet your breast, 

The rain-fresh goldenrod. 

Oh, never this whelming east wind swells 

But it seems like the sea's return 
To the ancient lands where it left the shells 

Before the age of the fern; 
And it seems like the time when, after doubt, 

Our love came back amain. 
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout, 

And be my love in the rain. 



FARMING AS I SEE IT 



By KATE SANBORN 




HERE'S nothing like a Farm: 
a Discouragement and an In- 
spiration. It gives you health 
and takes your money. 

If "you" are a man with a 
strong, healthy wife and half a dozen boys, 
and near a good market, and do all the 
work yourselves, you can make a living — 
if farm is not mortgaged. 

And conditions are greatly improved by 
R. F. D., telephones, the social life of the 
Granges. 

But I, a lone, lorn woman with no husky 
hubby, and my only boys those I hire, and 
thirty miles from a city market, can truth- 
fully say that after seventeen years of con- 
stant toil, outlay, and experiment, I have 
raised better crops than any man near me, 
but could not find a really paying market 
for anything but hay and rye. 

I have sold eggs, broilers, and hens for 
fricassees to Boston clubs and Boston mar- 
kets, and always at a good price, but it 
never paid for necessary outlay. One prom- 
inent hotel proprietor who loves to come out 
here and lunch on broilers and all my de- 
licious vegetables, when I asked him to buy 
my broilers exclaimed, "Do you suppose 
we buy tender birdlings like these for our 
daily table? Not much! We know how to 
make old fowls taste like the real article." 

I asked the head of the Commissary De- 
partment of Southern-Terminal-Upstairs- 
Restaurant if he used a large number of 
chickens. "Oh, yes, madam." I compli- 
mented him on the delicacy of a bit I had 
been enjoying, and then said, "I have 
about two hundred chickens now ready for 
sale. Will you not take some?" How his 
face changed ! How his jaw fell ! " Could n't 
take 'em. We use mostly old hens! Morn- 
ing, Madam." 

I step into a Boston provision-store when 
eggs are the highest, and inquire the present 
price per dozen. " Fifty-five cents, madam; 
how many will you take?" "Oh, I want 
to sell a large number of the very best, and 
perfectly fresh; how much do you pay?" 



"Not more than thirty cents and have reg- 
ular supplies coming in all the time, so can 
do nothing with yours." 

I sold large boxes of eggs to New York 
friends, but that never paid. I've traded 
the best eggs for groceries, but the grocer 
always got the best of the bargain at both 
ends. 

How can any one make anything on 
vegetables unless raised in a hothouse? 
Rhubarb sells in all the neighboring towns 
at a cent a pound, and they want fifty 
pounds at a time; they sell at three cents a 
bunch. 

The finest of sweet corn I could get only 
eight cents a dozen ears! Better to give it 
away right out. 

I did once get up quite a vogue for my 
beans in West Dedway, and while driving 
through town an upper window was raised 
hastily, and a woman shouted, "Are you 
the woman that sells beans?" 

My spirits rose. "Yes, how many would 
you like?" 

"Ten cents' worth, and come to-morrow 
at ten sharp!" 

And I did. 

I kept a dozen cows for a time and a 
superb Holstein bull, thereby enriching the 
commission-man in Boston (whose name 
begins with B). He gave but two cents and 
a half for Jersey milk of the purest, which 
sold for ten cents after taking off one skim- 
ming of richest yellow cream for special 
sale for ice cream. The extortion of what 
he called "surplus," and his impudent re- 
turn of sour milk which never came from 
my farm, was so disheartening that I sold 
my cows in anger and despair. If you are 
willing to devote your life to a " milk 
route" there is a little profit — nothing 
startling. 

The farmers who sell milk to the cities, 
unless they get some special and fat job, 
like the City Hospital, are as much over- 
ridden and ground down as were ever the 
slaves of the South. 

And pigs? Yes, the agricultural papers 

205 



206 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



assure us there is money in pigs. The rec- 
ollection of one summer devoted and ded- 
icated to thirty-seven Cheshires I could 
neither sell nor give away, is still vividly be- 
fore me. But a couple are a necessity, and 
I believe there are always two somewhere 
under the barn. I don't visit them, and 
they are the only living things on the farm 
which I do not over-feed and spoil by un- 
due kindness. When I see "Pig, for Sail 
here," on a shingle at a gate, I rejoice at my 
freedom. 

Still I aver I am a great success in raising 
anything and everything — even pigs. Read 
this: 

Dear Miss Sanborn: 

Enclosed find check for pig. It was a very nice 
one. I have given you the top price for it, as I 
have only paid 7 cts for some 390 pounds at $.08 

is $31.20. 

But count up the time spent in caring for 
and feeding pigs, the grain and vegetables 
given to them, the charge for violently end- 
ing their lives and cutting up and all that, 
and how much clear profit do I get ? 

I have tried every sort of crop and almost 
every kind of animal and bird usually found 
on farms, and have finally eliminated every- 
thing but hay and rye. 

Have resisted ginseng and the elusive 
mushroom, after hovering on the edge of 
temptation for months, as a fly coquettes 
with tanglefoot paper. No need of starting 
a skunk farm or a frog swamp; these are 
indigenous. 

Hens — there is money in them if they 
happen to swallow some. The enemies of 
poultry, four-legged, two-legged, winged, 
and crawling, and the snapping turtle, were 
all against my efforts. A skunk once got 
into a coop with a patent floor warranted to 
defy all foes and was seated by the mother 
of a large brood, devouring one after 
another, while she fought bravely, but in 
vain. She and the remnant were rescued 
by a boy who shot the thief. He told of the 
adventure, adding, "I tell you, Ma'am, that 
hen was a Hero!" 

Mem. : any hen is a hero who carries on a 
farm. 

And my motto when thoroughly dis- 
heartened was this: "The only way to make 
a farm pay is strictly to avoid every kind 
of farming." 

But now, hope is revived — on hay and 
rye. 



I have received over $70 the last week 
for three big loads at $26 a load, or a dollar 
a hundred, and two smaller orders, and en- 
couraging letters come in: 

May 26th, 1907. 
Miss Sanborn: Enclosed please find check. You 
may send another load the same quality if you 
like. 

I sold to my foreman, who comes several 
miles every day to assist me, hay and veg- 
etables amounting to $188.92 during six 
months — that 's something, is n't it ? 

There was a resounding tap tap on the 
old brass knocker this evening and a man 
from Dullesttown wanted a ton of my hay 
"if it did n't get wet." "Not one drop fell 
on it," I proudly replied. 

Another excerpt from my daily corre- 
spondence: 

Miss Kate Sandborn, Metcalf, Mass. 

Dear Madam: 

We should be pleased to supply you with Bug 
Death for the season at $6.75 per bag of 100 lbs. 
Yours truly. 

Does n't that sound as if I was regarded 
as a prosperous agriculturist ? 

This recalls my final brilliant - success 
with potatoes, after years of discipline. 
One year it was "uncommon wet," and 
most rotted; next was "terrible hot," and 
they burned; another time 'twas "scab." 

I at last planted a large amount on newly 
ploughed and enriched land that had lain 
fallow a score of years. Result: taters that 
were marvels for size and excellence, some 
weighing a pound and three quarters. 

Elbert Hubbard styled them my No. 10 
potatoes, and I received grateful appreci- 
ations of their magnitude and worth from 
many of the literary nobility of New Eng- 
land. 

That fall two men drove in and asked, 
"Is this the OP KaSanborn Farm?" I said, 
"I do not know whether you want my 
former farm or the present Kate Sanborn 
Farm." 

"Wall, I heard of her big potaters, and 
want some seed like 'em." 

Last year I raised one hundred and thirty 
bushels of potatoes, and with these and 
many other delicious vegetables managed 
to keep the wolf from the door by swapping 
them for meat with the butchers. 

Ought to mention apples, but they are 
an unpleasant theme. 

Why did n't the Footie old Farmers, two 



FARMING AS I SEE IT 



207 



generations ago, set out apple-trees that 
would yield valuable fruit ? 

My gnarly trees were only a breeding- 
place for caterpillars and a cause of more 
unrestrained drunkenness in this hamlet 
than had ever been noticed before. I gave 
up trying to sell to commission-merchants 
in Boston, because, deducting all the ex- 
penses, — as good barrels, twenty-five cents 
each; two men at the "goin' price," $1.75 
per day, to pick, sort over, select only the 
"firsts," pack with stems up as near of a 
size as possible, head up, take to station; 
then the express charges and the commis- 
sion, — I got but sixty-five cents per bar- 
rel! 

One wily assistant suggested that good 
cider vinegar was always a sure seller. I 
bought eleven large hogsheads and filled 
them with cider; made frequent inquiries, 
and was assured it was being treated all 
right — and so it was: it was all treated 
out, and the whole eleven were empty. 

I have now cut down every apple-tree 
and the guzzlers mourn. 

I am told of a man in Hancock, N. H., 
who sells annually 50,000 barrels of apples 
in London. I wrote him and found this was 
so, he selling for himself and neighbors. 
And he keeps 14,000 hens to scratch up the 
earth around the trees and incidentally en- 
rich them. I almost dislike that man. Han- 
cock forefathers must have had brains and 
used them. I am so jealous that I intend to 
:all on him and see for myself. 

Two desirable crops I am never allowed 
to enjoy: blueberries and chestnuts. They 
ire away from my surveillance, and I can't 
•eally afford to hire an armed constable to 
protect me, as a woman who rented my 
'olkasanborn" farm was obliged to do 
vhen her peaches were ripe. 

So I do not sell blueberries (high or low), 
is interested parties relieve me from that 
esponsibility. 

One season, a shrewd hired man rose at 
our one Sunday morning, determined to 
et those berries, and surprised an entire 
amily on their knees, filling pails and bas- 
ets — a family who had condoled with 
ie a few days before on the meanness of 
oiks who would dare to steal from me — 
and you so kind to every one!" He ac- 
lally brought in forty quarts that summer, 
3r the rumor of his police efficiency soon 
pread abroad. 



Boys and squirrels take every chestnut 
the instant they are eatable. 

Guests wonder why I do not stock my 
beautiful brooks with fish. One Editor 
chuckled in print about my filling my 
streams with forget-me-nots instead of fish, 
an amusing instance of my whimsiness and 
lack of practicality. 

But he was the man who, saying he al- 
ways loved, when he was a boy, to go to 
the barn and gather eggs, was allowed to 
visit my long hen-houses to renew his youth 
by filling the egg-baskets, and returned 
proudly, having ruthlessly robbed the set- 
ting hens and then added to his store a 
dozen of the white disinfectant make-be- 
lieve eggs! 

A fish culturist once sent me a generous 
supply of carp to stock a boggy piece of 
water; these were spied upon even at the 
station, and I bet that few lived over-night! 
And before my return in the spring pisca- 
torial enthusiasts roam along my brooks at 
night with lanterns and rods to extract every 
sucker, horned pout, or pickerel that are 
there. 

I used to delight in the really tame quail 
and the partridges that lived about my 
woods; but in spite of a dozen conspicuous 
notices of "No Hunting Allowed Here," 
just as soon as the law is off for game I al- 
ways find men tramping all over the fields 
and groves with a number of dogs and the 
largest stock of impudence I ever encoun- 
tered. I hear the crack of their guns and 
dare not walk in my own grounds. Once, 
after just escaping a shot, I did remonstrate, 
and the biggest-stomached of the group re- 
plied, "This is a free country." "Yes," I 
ventured to reply, "but this is my private 
property, on which I pay taxes, and you 
must read that I forbid hunting here." 

"We're going through, all the same; 
guess 't won't hurt you none." 

I retorted, "You are gentlemen!" 

And there came a sneering, jeering, long- 
drawn-out "T-h-a-n-k-s." I suppose they 
were Socialists ! 

Madame de Genlis used to say that a 
woman was usually given credit for but one 
thing. If she was a celebrated beauty, no 
man would give her credit for either wit or 
sense. And she instanced Madame Re- 
camier, of whom I always think as recli- 
ning gracefully on a couch, in an Empire 
gown, the waist of which had been forgot- 



208 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



ten. Yet she was a most sensible and prac- 
tical woman of affairs. 

And I suffer on a very small scale from 
the same tendency. Because I see the funny 
side of a woman's farming, all the world 
smiles at my most serious and strenuous 
efforts to make a farm away from markets 
pay. I do not think it a great wonder that 
experienced men like Rudd and Rankin 
make hens and ducks pay well, when they 
own city markets to dispose of their thou- 
sands of incubator-raised fowls, and have 
large capital to use, and sell ducklings and 
chicklets at such an early stage that they 
can't cost much, to epicures, teaching them 
to like these immature morsels. I do not 
see the logic of crying aloud, "Milk does 
pay," as on a famous farm, where a most 
high-priced large estate was purchased; 
then stocked by a millionaire with fancy- 
priced cows; then a large sum given by 
him yearly to "keep it up." Asa natural 
following, milk from that ideally managed 
place sells at a fancy price. 

But with ordinary farmers the milk and 
grain bills are equal, and all that is saved is 
the manure. It 's at best a non-paying per- 
mutation: cow, grain, milk, manure; ma- 
nure, grain, milk; and the wisest say there's 
at present no money in making butter. 

There is a fine assortment of faker farm- 
ers of late, bedridden invalids who con- 
fess that if they could farm as profitably 
on land as they have on paper it would be 
all right. 

Women who do easily the work of a 
dozen men before breakfast, besides pre- 
paring the breakfast; women who find no 
difficulties about keeping a cattery and 
birdery in the same room. No cat ever even 
looked up longingly; no bird ever had a 
feather ruffled. Beautiful! 

And the kittens sold for fifty dollars each, 
and I presume every bird also was called 
for at high prices. 

And Bolton Hall, in "Three Acres and 
Liberty," tells us how invalids and paupers 
can take vacant lots near a great city; have 
their ploughing done and fertilizer sup- 
plied gratis; and do not need any house, just 
shanties made of "old boxes and such-like," 
and get a good living! I wish he would try 
it one season with a few dry-goods boxes. 



Guess he'd conclude his own head was i 
"vacant lot." 

I'm reaching "finally." 

My bretheren and sisteren, in closing ] 
will give you one most useful fact, worth i\ 
dozen times more than all the rest of mi 
talk. 

Are you bothered by ravenous crows eat 
ing all your corn? Then list, oh, listen tc 
me! If too late for this — winter, try it i: 
spring ever does bourgeon forth onc<| 
more. 

Get a fifteen-cent can of Wilmingtoii 
Tar. Put it with water in the proportior! 
of a teaspoonful to a quart of water. Wei 
the corn with it and sow fearlessly. Th< 
crows will swoop down as usual in flocks j 
one will pick out a kernel and test it; rei 
suit, disgust. There will be a warning "Hal 
ha!" and never again will a kernel hi 
touched, while the predatory birds wil| 
now make themselves really useful by eatj 
ing up all the bugs, worms, and othej 
pests. ; 

Lastly, to end with a laugh, I'll quoti 
what a friend of mine actually overhearq 
on a trolley at the time I had gotten the betj 
ter of a human brute who had been particj 
ularly dishonest with me, but was ostraj 
cized by the whole community and forced 
to give up his mean advantage. I'm will! 
ing to allow that even a dozen years ago thj 
man who stood up for me must have beei| 
a Methuselah. I heard he looked verj 
patriarchal, and wore one of those regula; 
tion patriarchal goat-beards of a yellovj 
white. 

He was endeavoring to interest the conl 
ductor, who was strangely indifferent. 

He said in a loud tone, "There's a quee 
gal down our way, about half as old as I bej 
Her name 's Kate Sarnborn. Well, she wri' 
the goldarndest book and called it 'Th' 
Disbanded Farm.' She had a good deal d 
trouble about the farm, and I'll be gol 1 
darned if she did n't come out the top o; 
the heap! I'll bet my life she did, and 
don't bet my life unless I am mighty sur, 
of anything. Did n't you ever read any o 
her things ? She writes for the farm papers 
too; I read all her things." 

"OP Ka' Sanbon." Farmer and Litter' 
ateur! 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 

By DAVID S. BARRY 

President Roosevelt Plans a "One-man Government" jor the City : James B. Reynolds 
His Commissioner : The Beautiful City's Astonishing Slums : Plans jor Their 
Betterment : Dr. Hale's Opinion and the Tempest It Caused : The Fall- 
ing Off of Religion in Washington : Opinions of Many Clergymen 




HEN reflections upon the relig- 
ious sentiment of the capital of 
the United States are made 
by such eminent authorities as 
Bishop Satterlee and other dis- 
tinguished ministers of the Episcopal Church 
residing here; when the various social strata 
are publicly referred to with contempt by 
such an authority as Dr. Edward Everett 
Hale; when the form of government is 
looked upon askance by President Roose- 
velt, who appoints a sociologist and political 
and domestic economist of high repute, in 
the person of James Bronson Reynolds, to 
submit a new plan of municipal control; 
and when the same expert authority is com- ' 
missioned to report to the Chief Executive 
as to the facts relating to the slums of Wash- 
ington, a subject first brought to the atten- 
tion of the President and the country by 
such a practical social reformer as Jacob 
A. Riis — popularly known as "Dear 
Jake;" — then it would seem to be high 
time for the denizens of the city to sit up 
a,nd ask themselves, "What is the matter 
with the District of Columbia?" 

The question, therefore, is here asked: 
What is the matter with it ? Tradition says 
hat Washington is what the late Senator 
mgalls, plagiarizing possibly from some 
$ood man who went before him, said it was: 
i'the best-governed city on earth." A few 
/ears ago Mr. H. B. F. Macfarland, presi- 
dent of the Board of three Commissioners 
— one a Republican, one a Democrat, and 
j>ne an engineer officer of the army, without, 
presumably, political affiliations, all ap- 
pointed by the President of the United 
States, — speaking at the Buffalo Exposi- 
ion, said- 

The fact that it is an exception to all other gov- 
rnments in the United States in that it provides 



for taxation without representation and is auto- 
cratic in form grieves some good people in the Dis- 
trict, who care more for sentiment (principle) than 
for substance. . . . Self-government of the most 
direct and effective character is the possession of 
the people of the District of Columbia. . . . The 
government of the District of Columbia is, there- 
fore, the best in the United States, because it is a 
government by the best citizens. 

Returning from the funeral of President 
McKinley at Canton in September, 1901, 
Col. Theodore A. Bingham, U. S. A., now 
General Bingham, U. S. A., retired, Police 
Commissioner of the city of New York, fell 
into an argument with President Macfar- 
land and other gentlemen on the subject of 
District of Columbia affairs, and made the 
assertion, dictatorial, perhaps, considering 
the company, that the form of government 
needed by the District of Columbia was a 
one-man government. Some colossus of the 
business world, he said, some independently 
wealthy Captain of Industry, a Carnegie, a 
Rockefeller, or a Cassatt, perhaps, one who 
had built up great business affairs, handled 
men, and accomplished big practical things, 
and whose wealth would make certain his 
lack of interest in politics or real-estate in- 
vestments, one who would devise wise plans, 
issue orders, and see to their execution, 
would be just the thing for Washington. 

President Macfarland naturally com- 
batted this suggestion, as others in the party 
did, and indeed it is possible that none of 
them took it f seriously. But now comes 
along President Roosevelt's special and 
confidential agent,> Mr. James Bronson 
Reynolds, with a plan very similar to that 
proposed by the army officer who has made 
such a signal success apparently at the head 
of New York's Police Department. The 
public do not seem to be crazy for suffrage 
in the District of Columbia, or for munici- 

209 



2IO 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




James Bronson Reynolds, sociologist and economist of high repute, who has been appointed by 
President Roosevelt to investigate and report on the slums of Washington 



pal reform of any kind. There is, of course, 
a small and unimportant element of the 
population who spasmodically advocate 
giving the ballot to benighted District of 
Columbia; but the citizenship as a whole, 
when they regard the privileges vouchsafed 
to them and denied to the voting and suffer- 
ing tax-payers of other communities, and 
especially when their minds go back to the 
days of popular suffrage in the District of 
Columbia ; — to the days of the feather- 
duster Legislature and the supremacy of 
the local politicians, white and black, — 
are content with conditions as they are and 
do not sigh to fly to others that they know 
not of. 



Mr. Reynolds has submitted to President 
Roosevelt an elaborate report upon the sub- 
ject which will, presumably, be transmitted 
to Congress next winter. There is much in 
the present form of government to com- 
mend itself to the President's special agent, 
but he thinks that great advantages would 
flow from a turning of the clock backwards 
for forty years and a return to the plan of 
putting the 325,000 inhabitants of the terri- 
tory originally known as the Ten Miles 
Square, some of which was afterwards re- 
ceded to Virginia, one-third of whom are 
negroes, under the control of a Governor to 
be appointed by the President of the United 
States, with a salary of ten thousand dollars 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



211 




Gen. George M. Sternberg, U. S. A., Retired 



year, working through various depart- 
ments, the heads of which should receive 
five thousand dollars, and with an Advisory 
Committee of one hundred citizens — these 
also to be appointed by the President, to 
express the varied interests of the District of 
Columbia in relation to the questions of 
social reform and administration. 

These suggestions are not closely in line 
with the possibly half-facetious proposition 
of Colonel Bingham; for instead of an ap- 
peal to Captains of Industry as the class 
from whom the needed one-man power is 
to be derived, Mr. Reynolds calls attention 
o the propriety and feasibility of giving the 

esident the liberty of considering the advi- 



sability of the appointment of successful and 
experienced mayors of other cities for the 
position of Governor, a practice which the 
President's expert says has found favor in 
Germany. 

Mr. Reynolds's report goes into detail re- 
garding the establishment and control of 
the various departments of municipal gov- 
ernment under his plan, one provision of 
which is that the civil-service law shall be 
extended to cover all minor offices in the 
District. He refers also to the civic interest 
of the community, or the lack of it, and re- 
fers to what is undoubtedly true: that there 
does not exist here any strong organization 
charging itself primarily with the disinter- 



212 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 







Bishop Satterlee, who has scored the fashionable element of Washington society for its neglect j 

of religious matters 



ested promotion of the general public wel- 
fare. He says such an organization is greatly 
needed. Altogether, Mr. Reynolds's report 
is an interesting if not an important doc- 
ument, and if it related to the municipal 
government of any city in the United States 
other than Washington its publication would 
undoubtedly have been followed by ani- 
mated discussion in the press and on the 
forum. Washington, however, does not 
bother itself about such little matters. There 
is no municipal league here because none is 
needed. There is, however, a Northwest 
Citizens' Association, a Southeast Citizens' 
Association, and various other citizens' as- 



sociations interested chiefly in real-estate 
improvements in one or the other various 
sections into which Washington is divided 
by the cart-wheel plan on which it is laid 
out; but it can truly be said of them that if 
they do no good, they at least do no harm. 
Washington is a favorite spot because, be- 
ing the capital city of the nation, it is being 
beautified at government's expense, and be- 
cause the population do not suffer from graft. 
The streets may go untouched all winter 
because Congress has furnished no money 
with which to clean them, and the weeds 
may be allowed to grow fifteen feet high on 
vacant lots remote from the dwellings of in- 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



213 




Rev. C. Ernest Smith, D.D., Rector of the fashionable St. Thomas Church, near Dupont Circle, 
in the centre of Washington's swelldom 



fluential people, but as a rule the municipal 
government is good for the community as it 
exists, and nobody has the right to complain. 
As a matter of fact, few do. The bulk of the 
population is just as well pleased now as 
they would be under a Governor, and this 
is the view that Congress will probably take 
of it. 

The popular impression of Washington 
is that it is a wonderfully beautiful city, 
with broad, shaded, well-paved streets, 
abundance of trees and flowers, imposing 
government buildings, and attractive pri- 
vate residences, where each citizen is a fa- 
vored individual, smiled upon three hundred 



and sixty-five days in the year by the good 
patron saint Uncle Sam. As a general prop- 
osition, all this is true; but there is a reverse 
side to the picture, and it never was so graph- 
ically thrown upon the screen of publicity as 
when, a few years ago, Mr. Riis took Presi- 
dent Roosevelt on a little jaunt around the 
city and showed him the slums. The Pres- 
ident had never seen them before, although 
he knew Washington pretty well, and when 
Mr. Riis said a few things about them on 
the lecture platform his hearers and the 
public generally were inclined to believe 
that he was drawing the long bow. But 
the sore spots having been exposed to the 



214 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



















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[n Washington's slums 



general gaze, the charitable associations agi- 
tated the subject until they got from Con- 
gress a small appropriation to be used in 
compensating property-owners for buildings 
destroyed by condemnation proceedings, 
and in this way some of the fouler spots 
of the city were made comparatively clean. 
The situation as regards slums, however, 
is not as yet by any means ideal, as the 
President has found out by another special 
report made to him by his confidential in- 
vestigator, Mr. Reynolds. The first direct 
result of the report is the appointment by 
the President of a commission of fifteen 
citizens, representing various professions 
and occupations, as suggested by Mr. 
Reynolds, to consider the subject of hous- 
ing-conditions in the District of Colum- 
bia and suggest measures of improvement. 
The commission will be known as the Pres- 
ident's Homes Commission, and the presi- 
dent of it is Gen. George M. Sternberg, 
formerly Surgeon-General of the Army and 
an expert of the highest repute on the sub- 
ject of typhoid fever and sanitary science 
generally. General Sternberg has spent his 
life in studying means for stamping out 



fever and sickness, and for improving the 
conditions of the poor. He is as active now 
on the retired list as he was when Surgeon- 
General, and is president of a real-estate 
company here who began the work of build- 
ing small houses of cheap rental, each con- 
taining gas-pipes, a bath-tub, and other up- 
to-date sanitary improvements. The houses 
have been reasonably successful, and what- 
ever per cent their owners may receive, 
they have at least the satisfaction of know- 
ing that their wise and sensible plan has 
done much to improve the condition of 
poor people within the boundaries of the 
District. 

Mr. Reynolds, in his report to the Presi- 
dent, among other things says: 

In my investigation I found three distinct prob- 
lems — that of small houses, that of alley shacks 
and alley houses, and that of inside alleys. There 
are some, perhaps many, good houses for wage- 
earners in Washington, but the laws and ordi- 
nances in relation to their construction are de- 
fective and incomplete and need thorough revision. 

I found nearly all the alley wooden shacks and 
small brick houses that I visited in a wretched 
condition. The wooden shacks, as a rule, might 
properly be condemned on structural grounds. 
Their yards were apparently storage-places for 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



215 




A shack in the slum district of Washington 



refuse and filth, their water-supply inadequate and 
badly placed, and the sanitary arrangements in- 
adequate in the extreme. I am glad to state that- 
during the past year many of these matters have 
been improved. 

I had conversations with the dwellers in these 
inside shacks, and the comments of many may be 
fairly summarized in the pathetic remark of an old 
colored woman, who exclaimed, with reference to 
her neglected, filthy yard: 

"Why, my old marsa would n't ha' kep' his 
horses stabled in such a place." 

No argument is needed to show that such ill- 
conditioned hovels are culture-beds of disease, the 
germs of which may be carried far and wide by the 
flies which feed on the rotting garbage and execreta. 
Their number should be promptly ascertained, and 
immediate steps taken for their complete elimina- 
tion, and buildings constructed in their places 
should have proper sanitary appurtenances, and 
should open either upon a highway or small street. 

In a few instances the dwellers in these shacks 
would probably merit temporary help in securing 
better quarters if the shacks were destroyed; but 
if the abolition of the shacks should result in dri- 
ving their tenants from the city, in most instances 
an undesirable element of its population, which is 
at present an expense to the city through its police 
courts and prisons, would be removed. 

The small brick houses inside the squares are 
not usually in as unsatisfactory a condition as the 
wooden shacks, but a large percentage of them are 
without adequate water-supply and are often 
structurally defective. 



A particularly undesirable and menacing fea- 
ture of the poor quarters of Washington is the in- 
side alleys. These alleys are centres of disorder 
and crime, and they make possible the continuance 
of small communities uncontrolled by ordinary 
police inspection and unaffected by public obser- 
vation and criticism. In my opinion, all inside 
alleys, with the exception of service alleys, should 
be abolished, and a definite scheme for the accom- 
plishment of this object should be adopted. 

Dr. Edward Everett Hale, the distin- 
guished Massachusetts clergyman, Chap- 
lain of the Senate, has added a chapter to 
the controversy as to Washington's social, 
political, and religious condition by the 
following expression contained in an article 
published early in the summer while he was 
rusticating in his rugged but pleasant sea- 
shore retreat at Matunuck, R. I. 

Washington is a city of four quarters. These 
are what we call Northeast, Northwest, Southeast, 
and Southwest. Southeast is inhabited mostly by 
negroes. Northwest is inhabited by white folk, 
gentlefolk, just such people as you and I are — 
people who can change their clothes six times in a 
week if they want to; people who — Well, people 
who can have everything for dinner that they want 
to have. The death-rate in Southeast is 21 in 1000. 

Now that is a very tart statement for an 



2l6 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Hustling for treasures on the dump in Washington slums 



old gentleman of more than fourscore to 
make, and he seems, in the matter of the 
character of Washington's population, to 
have sacrificed accuracy to the love of being 
epigrammatic. Possibly he may be posted 
as to the Northwest section in which, as he 
admits, he lives, but as to the Southeast he 
certainly is wrong. 

And those sections of the city upon which 
he made reflections do not mean to let the 
good doctor escape, either. The ink was 
hardly dry upon his printed contribution 
to the slum controversy before the East 
Washington's Citizens' Association, one of 
the organizations which, while they have no 
great weight in controlling the governmental 
policies of the District, yet are very active at 
all times especially in looking after the good 
name of the city and the fair fame of their 
particular section or "quarter," pounced 
down upon him with an army of facts and 
figures which must have fairly staggered 
him. The meat of this answer to his descrip- 
tion of the character of the population of 
the Southeast section is this: 

Your [Dr. Hale's] residence, 1748 N Street, 
Northwest, is located in the Third Police Precinct, 



containing a population in 1907 of 33,225 persons 
— only 19,106 white and 14,119 colored. Please 
compare this fact with the residents of East Wash- 
ington, Northeast and Southeast, 63,271 white and 
14,356 colored. Total East Washington, 77,926. 
The death-rate in East Washington is less than 
fifteen per cent. 

Undoubtedly Dr. Hale believed that over 
in those "quarters" of this city where of 
course he is not called upon to go in his 
missionary work of saving Senatorial souls 
there is nothing but negroes and crime, 
slums and filth, poverty and ignorance. 
But the fact is that some of the worst slums 
in the city — a small percentage of them, 
however — have existed, and in a measure 
still exist, in that "quarter" of the city 
where gentlefolk live who change their 
clothes six times a week and have what they 
want to eat for dinner. 

A few years ago, when William McKinley 
was President, one of the three Commis- 
sioners of the District — the Republican 
member — was John B. Wight, a native of 
Washington, identified with her best con- 
cerns, deeply interested in charity and social- 
betterment movements, a churchman and 



MEN AND AFFAIRS AT WASHINGTON 



217 



a moralist. In giving testimony one day 
before the Senate Committee on the Dis- 
trict of Columbia he referred in a strictly 
official, non-partisan way to the well-known 
fact that a part of Washington's vast negro 
population — 100,000 and more — "is made 
up of the criminal classes." Mr. Wight set 
down naught in malice, but simply referred 
in passing to a well-known accepted fact. 
But the negro element, through their news- 
papers and politicians at home and abroad, 
raised a veritable hornets' nest about the 
good man's ears; also about President Mc- 
Kinley's, which was more to the point, for 
when Commissioner Wight's term, then 
about to expire, ended, he was not reap- 
pointed. 

Bishop Satterlee has had nothing to say 
of late on the subject of the growing disre- 
gard of the fashionable element of Washing- 
ton's population for religious matters, and 
especially for their non-observance of the 
Sabbath day, but for several years he and 
the late Dr. Hamlin, Rector of the Presby- 
terian Church of the Covenant, have been 
much agitated and very strongly outspoken 
on this subject. Both of them have talked 
right out in meeting and given their con- 
gregations and those of them who read the 
daily newspapers some things to think about 
that must have been rather unpalatable. 

The clergyman who has more lately fol- 
lowed up the suggestions of Bishop Satter- 
lee in this regard is the Rev. C. Ernest 
Smith, D.D., Rector of the fashionable St. 
Thomas Church near Dupont Circle, in 
the centre of Washington's swelldom. In 
recent sermons Dr. Smith has pointedly 
and feelingly spoken on the subject of the 
decadence of church worship. He made 
the assertion that in 1906 there were ninety- 
six clergymen in the diocese, against one 
hundred the year before; that 904 persons 
were confirmed, as against 1,098 in 1905; 
that the total offerings were but $304, 343.- 
29, as against $316,812.17 in 1905. Dr. 
Smith asserted, also, that of the more than 
three hundred and fifty thousand popula- 
tion the Episcopal Church of this city had 
less than twenty thousand communicants, 
gathered out of 11,818 families, — only five 
per cent of the whole. " Nowadays," Dr. 
Smith has said in his sermons, "a man can 
stand on the topmost rung of the ladder, 
social and political, and be at the same 
time out of all church life." 



Complaining of Sunday amusements, 
Dr. Smith said: 

Sunday throughout a large part of Washington 
is neither a day of rest nor or religious observance. 
Whatever may be the explanation, Sunday is prob- 
ably worse kept here than in any other city of the 
East. Here government officials are constantly 
engaged in unnecessary Sunday labor; here build- 
ing-contractors uninterruptedly fulfil their con- 
tracts; and here storekeepers without let or hin- 
drance open their stores. 

Simultaneously while these are toiling at busi- 
ness tasks others by thousands are toiling for 
pleasure. Dinner-parties and receptions are be- 
ing more and more given on Sunday. Golf is 
claiming an ever-increasing number of votaries, 
while Sunday riding and driving are many times 
greater than on week-days. 

Nowhere else, so far as we know, is there such 
a lamentable neglect of the respect due to the pas- 
toral office of the clergy as here. The known 
wishes of Bishop and clergy seem to have little 
weight where inclinations run counter to loving 
and loyal obedience. Rarely now in many places 
is the clergy called upon to minister to the sick 
and dying. With the best intentions in the world, 
physicians often forbid them to see their patients. 
What wonder that now comes Christian Science, 
so called, and forbids the physician himself to see 
the sick. 

The saddest feature of all is, Dr. Smith 
thinks, "the utter failure to care for such 
faithful ministers as have come to a penni- 
less old age." As to the attitude of the press 
toward the Church Dr. Smith has this to 
say: 

We have no encouragement to overestimate our 
influence in this community with the papers. The 
rector of a prominent parish was more than two 
years in this city before any newspaper thought it 
worth while to send a reporter to see him, and then 
it was not to ascertain what his church was doing 
to uplift civic life, but merely to get a description 
of the dress of a bride whom he had mai ried in the 
morning. 

Dr. Smith, it must be remembered, is 
the pastor of a very fashionable church in 
a very fashionable locality, and there is val- 
uable testimony on the other side of the 
question. The Rev. John Van Schaick, 
Jr., for instance, of the Church of Our 
Father, locally known as the Dutch Re- 
formed, where President Roosevelt worships, 
says: 

If the Church has lost her grip, it is the fault of 
the Church. I will say that I do not believe Wash- 
ington is going backward, but forward. I have been 
impressed by the prompt, cordial, and intelligent 
cooperation of all the newspapers in Washington. 
The fight on tuberculosis, the summer-outings 
movement, the work for the public playgrounds, 
and every other effort to make Washington a clean, 
decent, moral, God-fearing city has had the mighty 



2l8 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



help of the press. When we get into closer touch 
with social movements our churches will be filled. 
I too regret the multiplication of social engage- 
ments on Sunday, but the way to meet the danger 
is by putting more life into our churches, so that 
churchgoing will be a privilege and not a duty. 

Dr. Samuel H. Greene, of the popular 
Calvary Baptist Church, made this answer 
to Dr. Smith: 

I can speak for no other denomination than my 
own, but I am compelled to say that the Baptists 
are enjoying the greatest church-membership in 
their history in this city, and the interest in re- 
ligious affairs was never more evidently displayed. 
We all, however, realize that there is a great inter- 
est shown in games on Sunday, and we all feel the 
force of Sabbath diversions, but I do not think that 
Washington is on a lower plane than any other 
city. 

The Rev. Frederick D. Power, .the pas- 
tor of the Vermont Avenue Church, the 
Rev. Ulysses G. B. Pierce, pastor of All 
Souls Unitarian Church, and many other 
clergymen of various denominations, dis- 



agree with the assertions of Bishop Satter- 
lee and Dr. Smith, but the Episcopalian 
Church seems to be more conspicuously the 
victim of the modern-day tendencies to 
neglect the observation of the Sabbath. 
Dr. Pierce, for instance, says: 

I can say that we never had so large an attend- 
ance and contributions as we had this year. Every 
department in the Unitarian Church in the Dis- 
trict has experienced growth during the last year; 
and though there is always room in every church 
for improvement, I have no reason to complain. 
There is a large attendance of men at our Sunday 
services. What they do in the afternoon — 
whether they go driving, riding, or dining — is, 
of course, none of my concern. I am quite satis- 
fied my congregation does not sacrifice attendance 
for the sake of golf or other amusement. 

In view of the conflicting views of the 
clergymen and the authorities on suffrage, 
municipal government, and social condi- 
tions, the question whether anything is the 
matter with Washington, or, if so, what it 
is, still remains open. 



THE MOUNTAIN -CHAIN OF THE YEARS 



By CHARLOTTE W. THURSTON 



O the mountain-chain of the years! 

Misty and blue and dim, 
It looms up out of the Past 

From the far horizon-rim. 



Rose-glow on the rock-hewn peak; 

Grey dusk on the snow-wrapped ridge; 
Torrents of quivering foam 

Arched by a rainbow bridge; 
Black night in the cold ravine; 

White blossoms that leap abloom; 
Ice-slopes with a cruel sheen; 

Lightnings that flash, 

Boulders that crash, 
Sun-gold athwart the gloom. 

O the mountain-chain of the years! 

Blue and misty and dim, 
It looms through the veiled Beyond 

To the far horizon-rim! 



Views of Old-Time Washington 



AS ILLUSTRATED BY THE 



ENGRAVERS OF THE FIRST HALF 
OF THE LAST CENTURT 



From Drawings by 

W. H. BARTLETT 



With Descriptions by 

N . P. WILLIS 



Reproduced from AMERICAN SCENERT, Published in 
London by George Virtue, 26 Ivy Lane, 18 40 



PRESIDENT'S HOUSE 

(From the river) 

THE residence of the Chief Magistrate of the United States resembles 
the country-seat of an English nobleman, in its architecture and size; 
but it is to be regretted that the parallel ceases when we come to the grounds. 
By itself it is a commodious and creditable building, serving its purpose 
without too much state for a republican country, yet likely, as long as the 
country exists without primogeniture and rank, to be sufficiently superior 
to all other dwelling-houses to mark it as the residence of the nation's ruler. 
"At the present moment (the last month of General Jackson's adminis- 
tration) the venerable President is confined to his room, and occupies a 
small chamber in the second story, near the centre of the house, on the 
front presented in the drawing. In a visit made to him by the writer a few 
days since, he was sitting at a table by the side of. his bed, with a loose dress- 
ing-gown drawn over his black coat, and a sheet of half- written paper be- 
fore him. He rose, with the pen in his hand, to receive a lady from another 
country, whose introduction to him was the principal object of the visit, and 
entered into conversation with that grace and dignified ease which mark his 
manners so peculiarly. He spoke of his approaching retirement, and the 
route he should pursue to reach the Hermitage, (his seat in Tennessee,) and 
expressed a strong wish to avoid all publicity in his movements, and to be 
suffered to pass tranquilly to his retreat. General Jackson is much changed 
since a reception given to the writer six years ago. He was then thin and 
spare, but stood firm and erect, and had a look of iron vigour — the effect, 
perhaps of his military attitude, and the martial expression of face which 
belongs to him. He has since lost several of his front teeth, and though the 
bold and full under lip still looks as if it could hold up the world on its firm 
arch, it is the mouth of an old man, and in any other face would convey an 
idea of decrepitude. The fire still burns in the old warrior's eye, however, 
and his straight and abundant white hair, which has been suffered to grow 
untrimmed during his illness, adds to the stern energy which is never want- 
ing even to his most quiet expression. Peace and veneration go with him 
to his retirement!" 



220 



VIEW OF THE PRINCIPAL FRONT OF THE 
CAPITOL AT WASHINGTON 

THE Capitol presents a very noble appearance, as the spectator ad- 
vances to it in the point of view taken by the artist; and from what is 
shown of the proportions and size of the building, a very imposing effect is 
produced. Its height, the ascending terraces, the monument and its foun- 
tain, the grand balustrade of freestone which protects the offices below, 
and the distinct object which it forms, standing alone on its lofty site, com- 
bine to make up the impression of grandeur, in which its architectural de- 
fects are lost or forgotten. 

"In a little volume written by a descendant of Washington, an account 
is given of the first survey of the Potomac, by the great patriot with ref- 
erence to tide-water 'While the party were exploring in the' vicinity 

of Harper's Ferry, news arrived of the burning at the stake of Colonel Craw- 
ford, by the Indians at Sandusky. Washington became excited to tears at 
the recital, for Crawford had been one of the companions of his early life, 
and had often been his rival in athletic exercises. The unfortunate man 
was brave as a lion, and had served with great distinction in the war of the 
revolution. Tears soon gave way to indignation, and Washington, point- 
ing to a lofty rock which juts over the stream, at its remarkable passage 
through the mountain, exclaimed, with a voice tremulous from feeling, 
"By Heaven, were I sole judge of these Indians, it would be slight retali- 
ation to hurl every spectator of his death from that height into the abyss.'" 

"To the reader who venerates the name of the great Patriot, no anec- 
dote, however trifling, told in connexion with the monuments of his great- 
ness, can be ^inappropriate or uninteresting." 



222 



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224 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




PH010 BY R. M. DAYTOr 



THE TRYSTING- PLACE 

By DORA READ GOODALE 

Oh, come to the place of tryst, Love, 

The place of a hundred charms, 
Where the beech-tree, drest in silken vest, 

Spreads wide its mother-arms. 
There dwells a soul in the beech-tree's bole, 

In its dappled, gray-green stem; 
And hardy and brown the nuts drop down 

As the earth hath need of them. 



The stream is young as the morn, Love — 

The stream is young as the May; 
Though her path is old as Time untold, 

'T was never hers till to-day! 
She still must moan on the steps of stone, 

Must leap to the blinding fall; 
But earth hath grace for a moment's space 

When Love keeps tryst with us all. 




Concerning 

Home and 

School 



By SARAH LOUISE ARNOLD 

Dean of Simmons College 





10W did you learn to do that?" 
a young girl asked her mother, 
as she saw her deftly twist a 
paper to line her basket, and 
slip it into its appointed place. 
"How did I learn?" replied the mother, 
promptly; "I never learned, I always knew 
how to do such things." 

In the ordinary analysis of every-day ex- 
perience the question is often asked, " How 
did you learn?" It is seldom truly an- 
swered. The mother had learned by care- 
ful schooling in her childhood days to use 
her hands skilfully, and to direct them 
thoughtfully, but she had not analyzed her 
tuition, which doubtless was derived from 
playing, and her thoughtless answer ex- 
pressed her full appreciation of the uncon- 
scious teaching. 

It would be of interest to all of us if we 
were to measure our various powers and 
trace them back to their several sources. 
We should without doubt find cause to be 
grateful to many teachers to whom we have 
never given tribute in words of gratitude. 
We should be surprised to find these the 
true sources of our greatest ability. Our 
masterpiece may owe its success to our 
schoolmaster, so called, or may have had 
its origin in the chance word of another 
playmate, or friend. 

We seldom "read as we run," and must, 
therefore, depend upon some wayside phi- 
losopher or some cloistered student to tell us 
whence our best gifts have come to us. Yet 
the schoolmaster, of all men, needs to know 
the sources of strength and wisdom, for he 
must guide the steps of the children into the 
right paths, and lead them to the desired 
goals. Schools have always been generous 
to their pupils — more generous than we 
realize. The chief blame which rests upon 



them to-day is attributable to their desire to 
teach everything to their children; — -yet 
perhaps the trouble comes not from the de- 
sire to give so much, but from ignorance as 
to the source of the desired good. 

It has been interesting to watch the chil- 
dren and their elder brothers and sisters 
through the long vacation, to see how they 
set themselves to acquire knowledge. Two 
distinct pictures are now very clear in the 
mind of the writer. One is that of a family 
group gathered around a blazing fire in the 
summer camp. The twisted logs have been 
brought from the neighboring woods, and 
seem to be telling the story of their summers 
and winters as the flames mount up the 
broad chimney-throat. Conversation is 
tossed back and forth from eldest to young- 
est. It goes back, as firelight talk always 
goes, to the childhood of the elders, and the 
stories of their early days are repeated in 
answer to the eager inquiries of the little 
ones. The rich hours are all too fleet, and 
it's time for the youngest lad to go to bed. 
As he slips away from the charmed circle he 
stops to whisper to his father, "Could you 
sit by me a little while after I am in bed and 
tell me how a few things are made?" The 
delight with which the ready assent is re- 
ceived measures the eagerness of the child- 
ish search for knowledge. The next morn- 
ing he reports to the assembled company 
what he learned the night before: where 
straw hats come from, who makes them, 
and how and why they cost much or little. 
There is no end to his interest in the thing 
which to us seems so commonplace. 

This is a pleasant fashion of learning. By 
and by, when the boy becomes a man and 
is considered educated, his store of useful 
knowledge and his abounding interest in the 
principles which govern life will be attrib- 

225 



226 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



uted to his schooling. Yes; but the school 
was the group around the camp-fire and the 
talk with a sympathetic father after bed- 
time. 

Another picture is of a group of children 
on the beach by the lake, playing in the 
sand, looking up at the stars, or back into 
the shadows of the woods whence the clear 
note of the thrush has just come. They 
have been talking about everything within 
reach of ear or eye, and have come to the 
stars. " You know some of them are so far 
away," said one of the group, "that it takes 
a thousand years for their light to reach us." 

The eight-year-old girl who listens turns 
her face in admiration to the older one, and 
asks, eagerly, "How did you know about 
that?" "Oh, my father told me," was the 
reply. The word was handed down and on. 
Next morning the small boy announces at 
the breakfast-table, "You never would 
guess how far away those stars are that look 
just over Camp Island. Margaret says that 
her father says that it takes a thousand years 
for their light to get here, and you' cannot 
half guess how big they are." Here again 
the children had sought to understand the 
mystery of the wonderful life about them 
and the lesson had passed from father to 
child. 

The summer was full of such details. 
Father and mother, sister and brother, 
uncles and cousins and aunts, all joined in 
the delightful search for knowledge, and the 
communication of truth. The story ran from 
one to another whenever anything new was 
learned or heard, or the old was reviewed 
and retold. Above was the broad deep blue 
of the sky, with its changing clouds; the sun 
by day, and the stars by night; always on 
rock and sand the placid lap of the ripples, 
or the dashing of the waves as the wind 
sped across the broad lake. The delicious 
odor of the pine-needles and the sweet fern, 
the chatter of the squirrels, the call of the 
phcebe, the song-sparrow at early dawn and 
the vesper hymn of the thrush, the laugh of 
the loon across the lake, the rustling of the 
wind through the treetops, — these and the 
constant presence of loving friends made the 
days beautiful. What schooling in it all! 
What a wealth to bring to the book when 
the child returns to the school tasks! 

Only a few hours from mountain and 
lake and woods to the din of the city; from 
the quiet of the beach to the hurrying 



crowd in the station; from the boat with 
the splash of its oars to the electric car 
clanging as it turns into the dark and 
crowded streets; and here on the curbstone 
in the alleys, or in the narrow street itself, 
groups of children playing, repeating to one 
another here, as there, the things which 
they have seen and heard. On the narrow 
door-sill, off the crowded sidewalk, sits the 
mother with her baby in her arms, while 
the little one scarce older toddles beside 
his little sister in the street, or crosses fear- 
lessly between the cars and the wagons 
which crowd one another as they pass. 
What are they learning, to bring to their 
book? 

By and by we shall gather these children 
together in our schoolrooms, and shall 
group them largely according to their age 
in the classrooms, five or six years marking 
the school age of the children assembled to 
be taught. We try to pass out to each 
hungry listener crumbs of knowledge care- 
fully assorted according to the age and 
grade. But the schooling of one child thus 
far has been so different from the schooling 
of the other, and each one learns according 
to what he knows! "To him that hath, 
shall be given." 

The teacher must be very wise, then, to 
teach these varying children. She learns 
very soon that there can be no fixed grada- 
tion, and that her teaching must be for in- 
dividuals. It may be that she is wiser than 
the rest of us, who have not yet learned that 
in the process of evolution we must always 
find humanity at the various stages of prog- 
ress and that some of our gifts are abso- 
lutely impossible, however anxious we maybe 
to pass them on. Only when the student has 
grown to the place where he can understand, 
shall we be able to teach; and often and 
often we fail, not because our intention is 
not good, but because our message is not 
suited to the ears that have not yet been 
opened to hear. 

For the difference of several generations 
must abide between the child who has been 
so wisely taught through all her days and the 
child who must glean from the streets, 
through hardest tutelage, the lessons which 
life has to give. It is this very meagreness 
of the lives of many of our city children 
which has driven the schools to attempt to 
supply what the home does not give, and 
cannot give for generations. At the same 



CONCERNING HOME AND SCHOOL 



22 



time, in our zeal for the knowledge which 
can be treasured in books, we are losing out 
of the lives of our most favored children 
many a lesson which the children of the 
streets learn out of necessity. 

This is perhaps one key to the problem 
which confronts us in industrial training. 
The mother who pleated and twisted the 
paper to line her box had pleated and 
twisted many baskets which she hung at the 
doors of her girl friends in childhood. She 
had knitted and crocheted and sewed. She 
had built houses of corn-cobs and cards, 
and later of wood. She had used tools of 
all sorts. Construction had been a constant 
element in her play, until she had forgotten 
that she ever learned how to use her hands. 
The children whom necessity compels to 
use their hands in caring for themselves and 
others are securing an element of strength 
and skill in their education which the book- 
taught children may never win. The school 
can never replace the tuition which the 
homes should give, and there is no substi- 
tute for the daily necessary task which 
teaches the child at the same time that it 
fulfils the need of the day. 

Blessings be on the heads of the uncon- 
scious teachers who make life rich for all of 
us; thanksgiving for the teaching that comes 
to us by the way, for the " wisdom never 
learned of schools;" and deepest gratitude 
for the unfailing treasure of the home in- 
structions and experiences, which, be- 
yond everything else, have enriched our 
days. 

It is this meagreness of the daily experi- 
ence of the city children which perplexes the 
administration of all our city schools. This 
has happily led to the establishment of va- 
cation schools, playgrounds, and gardens, 
which greatly ameliorate the hard condi- 
tions, and which help to offset the depriva- 
tions which have narrowed the lives of these 
little ones. A suggestion has recently been 
made to the Boston School Board by a 
Boston architect, Mr. J. Randolph Coolidge, 
which tends still farther in this direction. 
Mr. Coolidge proposes that the city shall 
erect school buildings in the parks for the 
children of the crowded tenement districts, 
the children to be transported in street-cars, 
at the city's expense, and allowed free hours 
of play in the parks before and after school. 
The project seems astounding to the con- 
servative; — but it is not unthinkable. 



One who compares the opportunities of the 
children blessed with country or even sub- 
urban life with those of the hot, dusty, and 
crowded city streets must feel the pressing 
necessity of overcoming the present condi- 
tions for the sake of the children, for the 
common welfare, and in the name of com- 
mon humanity. We read with deep inter- 
est, therefore, President Eliot's contribution 
to The Outlook of August 10, entitled "A 
Better Chance for the Slums." He cordially 
endorses Mr. Coolidge's plan, and says: 

There can be no doubt that this arrangement 
would be highly advantageous to the children who 
should be thus brought out from the slums five days 
in the week, and kept under supervision nine or 
ten hours a day. They would have the adjoining 
park to play in, and each schoolhouse could be 
provided with a large yard and plenty of light and 
air. 

If it be assumed that the fathers and mothers 
in the slums will be willing, or more than willing, 
to have their children treated in this way, the only 
objection to this excellent proposal is that it would 
cost the city something more than the city now 
spends on these children. There would be two new 
items of expense: (i) the transportation of the chil- 
dren, and (2) the supervision of the children's 
play hours. If cars could be used running in the 
opposite direction from that of the greatest traffic 
during the busiest hours, the transportation com- 
panies might make the children's fares very low 
and yet lose no money. The supervision of the 
play and study hours of the children would be a 
clear additional expense which would be different 
in different localities, but might easily cost $5,000 
a year for each school of one thousand children. 
These extra charges would be partially met by the 
interest on the difference in cost between a school- 
house site in the heart of the city and a schoolhouse 
site taken on the comparatively cheap land of the 
suburb adjoining a large country park. This dif- 
ference in cost would be very considerable in many 
American cities. About 40,000 square feet is the 
least suitable area for a schoolhouse to accommo- 
date one thousand children. Such an area might 
easily cost in Boston, for example, $250,000, where- 
as the same area opposite one of the large Boston 
or metropolitan parks might be procured for $50,- 
000. The park sites would also have the advan- 
tage of being permanent, as well as thoroughly 
suitable in all respects. In the closely built parts 
of a city the shiftings of the population not infre- 
quently make it necessary to sell an old site and 
procure, at great cost, a new one. 

This plan is not applicable to young or delicate 
children, or to children whose services at home for 
part of the day are absolutely required. It is pro- 
posed for healthy children, not less than ten years 
old, who are not required to work for their fami- 
lies in the afternoon. These country public schools 
should have facilities for exercise, occupation, or 
games under cover in stormy weather; in good 
weather the children's games and exercise should 
take place in the open air, partly in the park and 
partly in the large school-yard. It is not proposed 



228 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



to give away any food at the country schoolhouse. 
Food brought from home would be warmed, and 
food would be sold over a counter at cost. 

This proposal is certainly very attractive to the 
humanitarian, the sanitarian, and the economist; 
for it would give the children of the slums a far 
better chance for a healthy and happy childhood, 
and for future serviceableness at adult age. 

In line with the movement under discus- 
sion is the general interest in Playgrounds 
and Play Schools and Recreation Centres, 
which is admirably set forth in the " Play" 
number of Charities and the Commons, 
issued on August 3, 1907. This magazine 
should be possessed and carefully studied by 
all teachers and friends of children. It re- 
ports fully and delightfully the first meet- 
ing of the Playground Association of Amer- 
ica, recently held in Chicago. The subjects 
of the addresses indicate not only the 
breadth of interest, but the though tfulness 
with which the relations of the cause have 
been considered. Our national Commis- 
sioner J^of Education, Elmer Ellsworth 



Brown, gave an address on " Health, Moral- 
ity, and the Playground;" Joseph Lee, our 
Boston advocate of children's interests, 
staunchest friend of boys and girls, pre- 
sented "Play as a School of the Citizen;" 
Jane Addams showed the relation between 
"Public Recreation and Social Morality;" 
Charles Zueblin, of the University of 
Chicago, discussed "Playgrounds and the 
Boards of Education;" and other dis- 
tinguished writers related the experience of 
Boston, New York, Chicago, and other 
cities, in their efforts to secure wholesome 
conditions through Recreation Centres. 
Here, as in all good work for children, the 
cooperation of the Women's Clubs is evident. 
Write for the midsummer number, and 
read it from cover to cover; then, if you have 
not already done so, make ready to increase 
the lists of those who are interested in the 
good work, and help to secure for all chil- 
dren the free, wholesome play which should 
be their rightful heritage. 



THE HOME FOLK 

By EDWIN L. SABIN 

Somewhere the frigate-bird upfloats 

Above the tropic brine; 
Somewhere soft-swells the choral notes 

Of pungent spruce and pine; 
Somewhere are boundless surge and plain, 

Somewhere wait isle and peak; 
But what of folk who dream in vain — 

Yet in their dreams must seek! 



That folk whose ways are straitened ways 

Which lead from door to door; 
Whose fate it is to grope their days 

In circles, o'er and o'er; 
Whose blood may fast and redly run, 

Whose spirit know no lack, 
But who from rise to rise of sun 

Pursue the beaten track. 

All praise for them who dream their dreams 

But couch a blunted lance, 
Tho' well aware the wide world teems 

With deed and brave romance; 
Who from their furrow, desk, and roof 

In thought alone may roam; 
Who weave unvarying their woof — 

The guardians of home. 



EDITORIALS 



229 



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Some Phases of Politics 

THE political aftermath of the Hay- 
wood trial is worth the consideration 
of thoughtful men and women. It is obvi- 
ous that Haywood is to exist largely as a 
political factor from this time onward. It is 
quite inconceivable that the terrible indus- 
trial chaos out of which Steunenberg's 
murder and the "bull pen" came can 
again be permitted on American soil. We 
as a people in the nation would not allow 
it even if those communities afflicted had 
not reached a high enough plane of civil- 
ization to stop it. Undoubtedly, Idaho and 
Colorado have had enough hell for one gen- 
eration and are themselves bound that such 
terrorism shall cease, whether it springs from 
mine-owner or mine-worker. But there is 
a strong probability that this Haywood trial 
will have its bearing upon future political 
development in this country. Haywood 
himself, only last year, while in prison for 
Steunenberg's murder, was nominated by 
the Socialists of Colorado for Governor, 
and received 18,000 votes. The prestige 
which he has accumulated as the result of 
the trial makes more than a fair guess his 
nomination for President by the Socialists 
next year. That such a nomination means 
any chance of election, or, indeed, of carry- 
ing any State even, out of sympathy, is of 
course unthinkable; but the choice of Hay- 
wood will mean the rallying about a force- 
ful man of a large army of Discontent with 



which Socialism has come to be associated. 
It will give that party a chance for an ag- 
gressive campaign in behalf of a man and 
a cause for which trades-union men last 
May marched by the thousands in every city 
in the country. That cause, to be sure, was 
not Socialism — or was not so stated. It was 
"a Fair Trial" and "Justice." Yet there 
was protest against capital, a propulsion 
toward Socialism, and a warming-up to its 
principles, understood very roughly, by a 
vast mass — probably a million or two — 
of American working-men and voters. And 
Haywood is going to receive support from 
many of these voters who never before voted 
the Socialist ticket. The point we wish to 
get at now is how strong and important a 
figure can Socialism, thus led, make in our 
next national campaign. 

It is worth noting at this point that if this 
movement results in a striking political 
manifestation it will be the first forward step 
of Socialism for some time. Socialism as a 
political and economic force has certainly 
lost ground heavily within the last few years, 
and especially within the last few months. 
It has been a memorable and momentous 
check in a movement which but yesterday 
seemed destined to carry all the world with 
it. It seemed for years that the reaction 
would never come, and that some sort of col- 
lectivism would prevail to a greater or less 
degree in all democracies. Many honest and 
able citizens were aghast at its progress. 
Others who thought it unwise did not fear 
it as long as its source was the people, who 
ultimately always judge a thing by its fruits. 
But it certainly meant a political revolution 
wherever it was tested. To be sure, there 
has been no unity among the Socialists of 
the world, or cohesion and definiteness in 
their programme among the various na- 
tions; but Socialism, as understood by the 
mass, meant the placing of political and in- 
dustrial power more and more in the hands 
of the people, and the disappearance, grad- 
ual or summary, of the great employing in- 
dividual or individualistic corporation. And 
certainly that theory was becoming a favorite 
one only a few years ago. Somehow, it has 
been recently losing place and strength. 
That fact first revealed itself signally about 
four years ago, in the failure, by a narrow 
majority, of the attempt by Socialists to 
commit the American Federation of Labor 
to their cause. One year later this attempt 



23° 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



failed by an overwhelming majority, and 
since then the attempt has not been repeated. 
That this shift was but an index of a general 
world change has been demonstrated in a 
most astonishing way in Europe within the 
past few months. The great losses sus- 
tained by the Socialist party in the German 
National Elections; the defeat of the Mu- 
nicipal Central party in the London County 
Council elections after a test of a few years; 
the failure of the Socialists of France to 
prevent the government from taking severe 
measures with strikers although Jaures 
himself denounced the government's acts; 
the defeat of Mayor Dunne and his munici- 
pal-ownership platform in the Chicago 
elections; and the numerous similar ver- 
dicts in other cities of this country; — 
these have been blinding blows in the face 
of Socialists and Socialism, blows whose 
significance and strength cannot be dis- 
puted. It is not our purpose here to indi- 
cate whether these have been just or justi- 
fiable verdicts against Collectivism, but the 
fact cannot be gainsaid. It is true, nearly 
all these defeats were of a party which has 
not yet got a fair test. Mayor Dunne in 
Chicago, Herr Bebel in Germany, and 
Jaures in France had not been supreme in 
control of the government; but the verdict 
in the case of the London County Council 
was squarely against an intrenched govern- 
ment which had had time to carry out its 
plans, but which had so increased the taxes 
as to make the recoil fatal to its hopes. 
There Collectivism in a limited sense had 
been tried in the balances and found want- 
ing. It is clear, then, that any forward or 
aggressive movement by the Socialists in 
this country will be watched with absorbing 
interest by political students throughout the 
world. The principles of Socialism as usu- 
ally understood have a distinct fascination 
to nearly all of us. We feel a strong sym- 
pathy for the theory of companionship and 
comradeship and for the conception of the 
mass of people doing everything and being 
responsible only to themselves. It is like 
that other fond and wistful dream of each 
of us that some day we shall quit the dem- 
nition grind of desk and office and shop, 
and retire into the country on a farm to live 
in peace and happiness all the rest of our 
days. This latter dream seldom if ever 
finds fulfilment, and is n't often even en- 
tered upon. And whether Socialism is any 



more practicable we are prone to question 
while in a logical and severely mental mood, 
while something in our hearts is tugging us 
in the opposite direction. We in this coun- 
try may not see for generations, if ever, so 
strong a fight for and against Socialism as 
Europe has seen, but we shall certainly see 
a strong attempt in the coming national 
campaign to press its principles before the 
people through the personality of Wm. D. 
Haywood. How successful this will be in 
obtaining a popular response no one can 
now tell. Mr. Haywood has returned to 
Colorado, his home, and labor circles there 
have received him with great enthusiasm. 
Whatever trips he takes to the East will 
certainly be attended with an outpouring of 
the labor element. These meetings and the 
months that will intervene between to-day 
and the national election will show clearly 
the mettle of the man, and will mean much 
to his cause. Whether he will take the ad- 
vice of his dying comrade and "Be hum- 
ble," or whether he vaunts himself and his 
words unduly, is a big question to the So- 
cialists. Haywood did not succeed in becom- 
ing a martyr. Whether this is a greater 
misfortune than it now seems to his party 
depends largely upon himself. His per- 
sonality will for a time exceed that of any 
other possible seeker for the place, and will 
only be overshadowed by the present in- 
cumbent, who applied to Haywood that pat 
phrase "undesirable citizen," whose truth 
or falsity will have a most ample demonstra- 
tion within the coming months. 



As to the Surplus 

THE raising of the feeble cry of a men- 
acing surplus in the Treasury brings 
back memories of former years when this 
surplus grew to the dignity of a big cam- 
paign issue. Since that time we have had 
that surplus pretty well depleted, which 
caused us all much concern, for it was ac- 
companied by a similar depletion in our 
individual treasures. Now we are a very 
prosperous people and our national and 
individual surpluses are great. Probably 
this national surplus is n't necessary and is 
harmful to us, but our people are not going 
to rend their garments or hearts over the 



EDITORIALS 



231 



question. It sounds petty to us to-day. 
Why? For one thing, because of our na- 
tional prosperity. But the second and larger 
reason is the broadening of our national 
interests and outlook. One who examines 
the daily papers or the congressional de- 
bates of ten years ago and of to-day will be 
struck with the greater variety, breadth, 
and importance of our national topics to- 
day. It isn't that since the Spanish War 
we have become a World Power, but that 
we have come to have a World Concern and 
Share. It is n't that we own or hold some 
islands far off in the shadowy, mysterious 
East, but it is that those holdings have 
brought within our ken the great problems 
of race and lowly life with which this old 
Earth has been throbbing for centuries, 
but which are new to us. To the mind of 



the writer this is a distinct national gain to 
us. Our horizon has broadened as our do- 
main has been extended. We are thinking 
more in terms of Empire, perhaps, but we 
are certainly thinking more deeply and on 
vaster themes. And not only has our geo- 
graphic-mental horizon extended, but our 
own domestic questions have assumed a 
profundity and importance they had not 
before. 

Our national existence seems to move in 
cycles. There have been deadly dull periods 
in our history before this time, in which the 
narrator is able to see little that means prog- 
ress or achievement. Undoubtedly we are 
not in such a season of calms to-day, and 
it is a source of congratulation, we think, 
that our lines are fallen in these livelier, 
more stirring times. 



WHO COUNTS THE COST? 

By HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE 



Ye who count all the cost, and go 
So safely on the paths ye know, 
Giving no more than just enough — 
What do ye know of sacred love? 

He that can make it all his bliss 

That another happy is, 

While in rags and sin and pain 

His days pass — ah, not in vain 

Such an one may claim to know 

Love, though with Death his footsteps go. 

Love that can break and mar and kill, 
With hell and heaven one moment fill; 
Love that takes all and passes on, 
But never to oblivion; 
Still unforgotten love must be, 
Though gone with all his majesty. 
Though he has left you only tears 
And the gray falling of the years, 
That splendid instant of his stay 
For all, and more than all, will pay. 



THE WORLD'S DEBT TO HOLLAND 
IN THE CAUSE OF PEACE 

By EDWIN D. MEAD 




HE year 1907 will be ever mem- 
orable in history as the year of 
the first real Parliament of 
Man. The first Hague Con- 
ference, in 1899, with its rep- 
resentatives from twenty-six nations, could 
not fairly be called that. But the forty-six 
nations represented in the august assembly, 
— whatever its particular achievements, 
the most significant political gathering in 
human history, — holding its sessions this 
year in the old Hall of Knights at The 
Hague, constitute substantially the civil- 
ized world. The history which is being 
made in Holland for the cause of interna- 
tional organization and progress is momen- 
tous; and there is a peculiar fitness in the 
fact that the scene of these events so preg- 
nant for the peace and welfare of the world 
is the land of Erasmus, the author of the 
first great modern impeachment of the war 
system, and of Grotius, the founder of in- 
ternational law; the little land which first 
powerfully illustrated to the modern world 
the virtue of those principles of federation 
and political cooperation which the nations 
represented at The Hague now seek to ap- 
ply to international affairs. 

William Penn was the greatest political 
philosopher among the founders of our 
American States. He was also the first 
Englishman who had a clear and command- 
ing vision of the federation of the world. 
His remarkable " Essay towards the Pres- 
ent and Future Peace of Europe," pub- 
lished in England in 1693, a few years be- 
fore his last visit to Pennsylvania, was the 
first essay of such an international charac- 
ter which is free from every suspicion of 
ulterior motive and inspired purely by the 
love of humanity. The one famous plan of 
earlier date is the " Great Design " of Henry 
IV, of France, to which Penn himself refers 
in his essay. " This great king's example," 
he says at the close of the outline of his 
scheme of federation, " tells us it is fit to be 
232 



done; and Sir William Temple's history," 
he adds, " shows us, by a surpassing instance, 
that it may be done." 

Sir William Temple's history, to which 
Penn refers, is his "Account of the United 
Provinces," which Macaulay justly pro- 
nounces, in the essay to which most of us 
owe our impressions of Temple, "a master- 
piece in its kind." Sir William Temple was 
a man of conspicuous purity in public life 
in the dissolute age of Charles the Second; 
he was an acute observer and a charming 
writer; and he spent many years in Holland 
as English Minister. No other Englishman 
of his time was so well fitted to write the ac- 
count of Holland which we owe to him, and 
which was written at just the time of Penn's 
own first visit to Holland, twenty years be- 
fore his "Plan for the Peace of Europe." 
Of Temple's "Account of the United Prov- 
inces" Penn says in his famous essay: 

"It is an Instance and Answer, upon 
Practice, to all the Objections that can be 
advanced against the Practicability of my 
Proposal: Nay, it is an Experiment that not 
only comes to our Case, but exceeds the 
Difficulties that can render its Accomplish- 
ment disputable. For there we shall find 
Three Degrees of Soveraignties to make up 
every Soveraignty in the General States. I 
will reckon them backwards: First, The 
States General themselves; then the Imme- 
diate Soveraignties that constitute them, 
which are those of the Provinces, answerable 
to the Soveraignties of Europe, that by their 
Deputies are to compose the European Dyet, 
Parliament, or Estates in our Proposal; and 
then there are the several Cities of each 
Province, that are so many Independent or 
Distinct Soveraignties, which compose those 
of the Provinces, as those of the Provinces do 
compose the States General at the Hague." 

William Penn was right. The United 
States of Holland, established at Utrecht in 
1579, was the great precursor of the United 
States of America, and the prophecy of the 



THE WORLD'S DEBT TO HOLLAND 



233 



United States of Europe, for which Penn 
pleaded, and of the United States of the 
World, for which we work to-day. "By 
concord littie things become great" was the 
motto of this Dutch Union; and our Amen 
to-day is " Organize the world." 

The Legislature of Massachusetts in 
1903 passed unanimously a resolution urg- 
ing the government of the United States to 
invite the other governments of the world 
to unite with it in establishing a Stated In- 
ternational Congress, to meet at regular in- 
tervals and perform for the world legisla- 
tively a function similar to that performed 
judicially by the Hague Tribunal, con- 
sidering the multiplying international prob- 
lems of tariff, currency, copyrights, patents, 
postage, sanitation, boundaries, and so 
much besides, which the ever closer and 
complexer relations of modern States make 
imperative. The Interparliamentary Union 
the next year, and again in 1906, endorsed 
the plan; and an International Parliament 
is likely to be the memorable creation of 
the second Hague conference, as the Inter- 
national Tribunal was of the first. At first 
such a World Parliament could of course 
be only deliberative and advisory, referring 
its conclusions back to the nations repre- 
sented for ratification. And here we have 
precisely the precedent of the old Dutch 
United States. This is the account given by 
Sir William Temple, in the chapter on Gov- 
ernment, in his history: 

"In the assemblies of the States, though 
all are equal in voices and any one hinders 
a result, yet it seldom happens but that, 
united by one common bond of interest and 
having all one common end of public good, 
they come after full debates to easy reso- 
lutions, yielding to the power of reason 
where it is clear and strong, and suppress- 
ing all private passions or interests, so as 
the smaller part seldom contests hard or 
long what the greater agrees of. When the 
Deputies of the States agree in opinion, they 
send some of their number to their respect- 
ive towns, proposing the affair and the 
reasons alleged and desiring orders from 
them to conclude, which seldom fails, if the 
necessity or utility be evident; if it be more 
intricate, or suffers delay, the States adjourn 
for such a time as admits the return of all 
the Deputies to their towns, where their in- 
fluence and interest and the impressions of 
the debates in their provincial assemblies 



make the consent of the cities easier 
gained." 

"The parliament of man, the federation 
of the world," is the eloquent phrase in 
which the great English poet pictures the 
universal peace and order for which we work 
and pray to-day in a world weary of the 
waste and wickedness of war, with its terri- 
ble mockery of justice. And it was Holland, 
as William Penn well discerned, which first 
taught the modern world the lesson of fed- 
eration, the fundamental condition and 
method of universal order and eternal peace. 
The Dutch federal republic was the earnest 
and the model of our American federal re- 
public and of the greater federal republic 
that shall be. 

Republic, I say; for I hold with Imman- 
uel Kant, in his great essay on "Eternal 
Peace," that we shall not see a federated, 
organized world until we see a republican 
world. I use the word "republic" in the 
broad sense in which Kant used it as de- 
scribing every state, whether its head be 
called president or king, whose people are 
really self-governing, and where legislative 
and executive power are not lodged in the 
same hands. A federation of the world, so 
long as the most powerful parties to the fed- 
eration were not nations such as these, 
would promote the interests of tyranny and 
privilege more than those of liberty and 
progress. This is why those of us who 
wish most earnestly to-day for the federa- 
tion of the world, or for the organization of 
the family of nations in some fitting form, 
need feel no regret, but rather may con- 
gratulate mankind that no organic union 
came at any earlier period. Evolution must 
have ample space; and only now is the ful- 
ness of time for this great consummation. 

Of the liberty and self-government which 
must lie at the very basis of any worthy or 
desirable national or international feder- 
ation, Holland gave the first large and con- 
spicuous example in modern history. The 
Dutch Republic antedates the English Com- 
monwealth, as it antedates the planting of 
New England, which it so signally pro- 
moted. We of New England rejoice and 
are proud that we have in a measure paid 
the debt we owe Holland for her generous 
hospitality to our exiled fathers by furnish- 
ing her the great historian of her own he- 
roic struggle. No other struggle in history 
ever taught more powerfully the lesson, so 



234 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



imperative for a world whose prescribed goal 
is justice and order, that no great nation 
may recklessly oppress a small nation or 
seek to take away its fundamental rights. 
The awful cost of such attempts, even when 
for the hour successful, has just been taught 
us once again by the farmers of the little 
Dutch republics of South Africa, in whose 
veins flowed the blood of the men who three 
centuries ago stood on the walls of Haarlem 
and Leyden. Our Massachusetts Senator 
Hoar has well said of these, as Motley 
might have said of their fathers: "There 
has been no more heroic struggle than theirs 
since Thermopylae, and none in a holier 
cause." Should any differ from this judg- 
ment of a struggle so recent, and concern- 
ing which men's minds are yet heated, we 
shall all heartily unite in paying tribute to 
that heroism and courage, that passion for 
justice and freedom, in the Dutch nature, 
which are the primary foundations of peace 
and order in every people, and through 
which Holland for four centuries has done 
so much to promote the order and progress 
of the world. 

Next to the principle of federation and 
the passion for freedom, I place among the 
factors which work for the world's peace 
and better order the principle of toleration; 
and here too Holland has led mankind. 
While religious persecution raged over all 
the world besides, "the republic," as Mot- 
ley says, "became the refuge for the op- 
pressed of all nations, where Jews and Gen- 
tiles, Catholics, Calvinists, and Anabaptists 
prayed after their own manner to the same 
God and Father." 

"It has ever been the great principle of 
their State," writes Temple, "running 
through all their provinces and cities, even 
with emulation, to make their country the 
common refuge of all miserable men; from 
whose protection hardly any alliances, 
treaties, or interests have ever been able to 
divert or remove them. ... He that is 
forced by his fortune to live low may here 
alone live in fashion and upon equal terms 
with the chiefestof their ministers and rich- 
est of their merchants." To the sons of the 
Pilgrim Fathers of New England passages 
like this are surcharged with meaning. It 
was towards Holland that our suffering 
fathers in England, as well as the persecuted 
Huguenots in France, turned their faces 
when they prayed. If all Dutchmen in the 



1 6th century had not come to that position 
of absolute toleration which we hold to-day, 
William of Orange had come to it as com- 
pletely as Oliver Cromwell came to it in the 
17 th century. This is how Sir William 
Temple wrote about religious toleration in 
Holland and its results, in his history: 

"By the union of Utrecht, concluded in 
1579, each of the Provinces was left to order 
the matter of religion as they thought fit, 
with this provision, that every man should 
remain free in his religion and none be ex- 
amined or entrapped for that cause .... 
The great care of this State has ever been 
to force no particular or curious inquisition 
into the faith or religious principles of any 
peaceable man who came to live under the 
protection of their laws, and to suffer no 
violence or oppression upon any man's con- 
science, whose opinions broke not out into 
expressions or actions of ill consequence to 
the State. Perhaps while they were so 
threatened and endangered by foreign ar- 
mies, they thought it the more necessary to 
provide against discontents within, which 
can never be dangerous where they are not 
grounded or fathered upon oppression, in 
point either of religion or liberty." 

Here the keen English observer comes to 
the heart of the matter, showing how it is 
that the attempt to compel uniformity in 
religion, so far from promoting order and 
concord, sows the seed of strife and war. He 
continues: "Every man enjoys the free ex- 
ercise of his religion in his own chamber 
or his own house, unquestioned and un- 
espied; and if the followers of any sect grow 
so numerous in any place that they affect 
a public congregation . . . they go and pro- 
pose their desire to the Magistrates of the 
place; and if these find nothing in their 
opinions or manners of worship destructive 
to civil society or prejudicial to their State, 
they easily allow it. . . . Thus the Jews 
have their allowed synagogues in Amster- 
dam and Rotterdam; and in the first, almost 
all sects that are known among Christians 
have their public meeting -places; and some 
whose names are almost worn out in all 
other parts, as the Brownists, Familists and 
others." 

Sir William Temple, it is interesting here 
to note, was born a few years after our 
Brownist fathers had sailed from Delfts- 
haven to Plymouth, and just before the 
Jew Spinoza was born, at Amsterdam. 



THE WORLD'S DEBT TO HOLLAND 



235 



Temple can hardly say enough to express 
his deep sense of the political value of re- 
ligious toleration, as he had witnessed it 
in Holland, or his sense of the measure in 
which freedom ministers to peace. "It is 
hardly to be imagined how all the violence 
and sharpness which accompanies the differ- 
ences of religion in other countries seems to 
be appeased or softened here by the gen- 
eral freedom which all men enjoy, either by 
allowance or connivance; nor how friction 
and ambition are thereby disabled to color 
their interested and seditious designs with 
the pretences of religion, which has cost the 
Christian world so much blood for these 
last hundred and fifty years." Again he 
says: "In this commonwealth, no man hav- 
ing any reason to complain of oppression 
in conscience, and no man having hopes, 
by advancing his religion, to form a party 
or break in upon the State, the differences 
of opinion make none in affections, and lit- 
tle in conversation, where it serves but for 
entertainment and variety. They argue 
without interest or anger; they differ without 
enmity or scorn; and they agree without 
confederacy. Men live together, like citizens 
of the world, associated by the common ties 
of humanity and by the bonds of peace." 

To all this noble practice of toleration Sir 
William found one exception, the exception 
still to be fouud in the Protestant world — 
sadly but naturally enough — for genera- 
tions afterwards. But even here there was 
melioration. He says: "The Roman Cath- 
olic religion was alone excepted from the 
common protection of their laws — making 
men, as the States believed, worse subjects 
than the rest, by the acknowledgment of a 
foreign and superior jurisdiction .... 
Besides, this profession seemed still a re- 
tainer of the Spanish government, which 
was then the great patron of it in the world. 
Yet, such was the care of this State to give 
all men ease in this point who ask no more 
than to serve God and save their own souls 
in their own way and forms, that what was 
not provided for by the constitutions of 
their government was so, in a very great de- 
gree, by the connivance of their officers. . . . 
Though those of this profession are very 
numerous in the country among the peas- 
ants, and considerable in the cities, and are 
not admitted to any public charges, yet they 
seem to be a sound piece of the State and 
fast joined with the rest." 



By a strange irony, it was from a Roman 
Catholic, and in Roman Catholic behalf, 
that the most impressive appeal for religious 
toleration came during the terrible struggle 
between Holland and the Spanish power. It 
was while the arrangements for the twelve 
years' truce were pending, in 1609, at the 
very time of our Pilgrim Fathers' sojourn in 
Leyden, that the Catholic Jeannin, presi- 
dent of the Burgundian parliament, handed 
in to the States General his eloquent appeal 
in behalf of the Catholics of the Netherlands. 
"Consider," he said, "the great number of 
Catholics in your country. Those cannot 
be said to share in any enjoyment from 
whom has been taken the power of serving 
God according to the religion in which they 
were brought up. No slavery is more intol- 
erable. You know, my lords States, that it 
was the principal cause that made you fly to 
arms and scorn all dangers, in order to 
effect your deliverance from this servitude. 
As for the perils which some affect to fear 
if this liberty of worship is accorded, ex- 
perience teaches us every day that diversity 
of religion is not the cause of the ruin of 
States, and that their subjects do not cease 
to live in peace and friendship with one 
another, rendering due obedience to the 
laws, as well as if they had all been of the 
same religion. The danger is not in the 
permission, but in the prohibition of re- 
ligious liberty." 

There are not in all of Motley's eloquent 
pages any pages more eloquent than those 
in which he rehearses this memorable Cath- 
olic argument for toleration, and comments 
upon it. " Most true, O excellent president! 
No axiom in mathematics is more certain 
than this simple statement. To prove its 
truth William the Silent had lived and died. 
To prove it a falsehood emperors and kings 
and priests had issued bans and curses and 
damnable decrees. To root it out they had 
butchered, drowned, shot, strangled, poi- 
soned, tortured, roasted alive, starved and 
driven mad thousands and tens of thou- 
sands of their fellow-creatures. And behold, 
there had been almost a century of this 
work, and yet the great truth was not rooted 
out after all; and the devil-worshippers, who 
had sought at the outset of the great war to 
establish the Holy Inquisition in the Neth- 
erlands upon the ruins of religious and po- 
litical liberty, were overthrown at last and 
driven back into the pit. Surely the world 



236 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



had made progress in these forty years of 
war. Was it not something gained for hu- 
manity, for intellectual advancement, for 
liberty of thought, for the true interests of 
religion, that a Roman Catholic, an ex- 
leaguer, a trusted representative of the im- 
mediate successor of Charles IX and Henry 
III, could stand up on the blood-stained soil 
of the Netherlands and plead for Justice 
for all mankind?" 

Never in human history had the power 
of religious rivalry and bigotry to deluge the 
nations with blood been exhibited so sweep- 
ingly and horribly as in Spain's attempt to 
crush the Dutch republic; and never were 
lessons taught which did so much to elimi- 
nate from the world that most prolific cause 
of war, and to establish the principle of tol- 
eration among men, the first essential prin- 
ciple of any permanent peace or real unity 
among the nations, as then and there in 
Holland. 

Among the great pioneer preachers of the 
doctrine of toleration, none were more con- 
spicuous than the Dutch Spinoza, the Eng- 
lish John Locke, and the American Roger 
Willia'ms. Spinoza and Locke were born in 
the same year, 1632. That was just as Roger 
Williams, then living at Plymouth in Massa- 
chusetts, was beginning to talk about soul 
liberty. By an interesting coincidence, the 
English home of this first of the prophets, 
in the years immediately preceding his re- 
moval to New England, had been in the 
same parish — Oates, in Essex — where 
John Locke, who in 1689 stated the doc- 
trine of toleration in a form that commended 
it to England and made it law, spent his last 
years and found his final resting-place. It 
was at Amsterdam, during his exile, that 
he wrote his "Letter Concerning Tolera- 
tion;" and the work was published in Hol- 
land — at Gouda — before it was pub- 
lished in England itself. At Rotterdam 
Locke lived with the Quaker merchant, 
Benjamin Furly. He was president of a 
little club which met at Furly's house to 
drink "mum" and discuss philosophy. 
But his chief friends were at Amsterdam, 
where he was especially intimate with Lim- 
borch, the Remonstrant professor, author 
of "Theologia Christiana" and "History of 
th'e Inquisition." Who can doubt that the 
two discussed together the "Tractatus The- 
ologico-Politicus " of Spinoza, published 
not twenty years before, and especially its 



closing chapter, devoted to the proposition 
that "In a Free State every one is at liberty 
to think as he pleases and to say what he 
thinks " ? Locke could well appeal to Dutch 
thought and Dutch practice. Roger Wil- 
liams did expressly cite the example of Hol- 
land, half a century before Locke's plea, in 
the "Queries of Highest Consideration" 
which he addressed to Parliament during 
his visit to England in 1643 - 44, while the 
civil war was raging, — wherein he pleads 
for the entire separation of Church and 
State and declares the impossibility of es- 
tablishing any form of religion without do- 
ing violence to men's consciences. Roger 
Williams was a good Dutch scholar. He 
read Dutch to Milton; and he doubtless 
learned his Dutch — as also, suggests his 
latest biographer, "some of the principles 
which characterize his life's work" — from 
the descendants of the Dutch colonists who 
sought refuge in England during the per- 
secutions of Philip and Alva. 

We of English race, who glory in the his- 
tory of English liberty and law, never for- 
get that the Revolution of 1688, with the 
end of the tyranny of James II in Old Eng- 
land and of Edmund Andres in New, was 
a decisive chapter in it. All "divine right" 
of kings in England forever ended with that 
chapter. From then till now, as the Eng- 
lish historian pointedly observes, an Eng- 
lish king has been "as much a creature of 
law as the pettiest tax-gatherer in his 
realm." What Cromwell and the Puritans 
labored for was then permanently estab- 
lished in the nation. When we name John 
Locke, we cannot forget why he and such 
as he were exiles in Holland in 1688. It 
was in Amsterdam and The Hague that 
English Liberalism planned England's re- 
demption; and that redemption was wrought 
at the hand of a Dutch king, a king with 
the same revered name and title — William 
Prince of Orange — borne by him who had 
redeemed Holland and Europe from the 
tyranny of Spain. It was in the train of 
the Prince of Orange that Locke returned 
to England. As he wrote his "Letter on 
Toleration" just before he came, so he 
wrote his "Treatise of Civil Government" 
immediately after. The one work, like the 
other, was the fruit of the long days of med- 
itation in Holland. The two essays together 
form the philosophical basis and interpreta- 
tion of the English Revolution; and they 



THE WORLD'S DEBT TO HOLLAND 



2 37 



furnished English Liberalism with its po- 
litical creed for a hundred years. They 
furnished the Boston town -meetings, the 
Virginia Burgesses, and the Continental 
Congress with the arguments with which 
they won American independence. And 
John Locke, I say, like the Pilgrim Fathers, 
went to school in Holland. 

The very time of Holland's struggle for 
freedom was the time of her rise to the com- 
mercial supremacy of the world; commerce 
and trade in the large, free sense in which 
we understand them may now indeed be 
said to have first begun. And modern com- 
merce, the greater freedom and extent of 
trade, mark one of the most notable ad- 
vances in the world's peace and order. True 
it is that in the commercial rivalry and greed 
of nations lie the chief ground and menace of 
wars to-day; but true it also is that the gen- 
eral development of international trade, 
with the great multiplication of relation- 
ships and risks, makes mightily for the fra- 
ternity and peace of mankind. By com- 
merce men cease to be foreign to each other; 
and through it dies the mutual ignorance 
which has been the prolific cause of jeal- 
ousy, injustice, and war. Sir William Tem- 
ple already saw how the Dutch mind was 
becoming emancipated through Dutch com- 
merce. "I believe the force of commerce, 
alliances, and acquaintances, spreading so 
far as they do in small circuits, such as the 
Province of Holland, may contribute much 
to make conversation and all the offices of 
common life so easy, among so different 
opinions, of which so many several persons 
are often in every man's eye; and no man 
checks or takes offence at faces or customs 
or ceremonies he sees every day, as at those 
he hears of in places far distant, and per- 
haps by partial relations, and comes to see 
late in his life and after he has long been 
possessed by passion or prejudice against 
them." 

This was the Holland, enlightened by 
commerce and by her own hospitality, 
which was enlightened also by learning; 
which at Leyden chose a university as the 
most excellent gift, and not remission of 
taxes, when William of Orange, after the 
heroic resistance of the people at Leyden in 
the terrible siege of their city in 15 75, offered 
them their choice of rewards. 

The Union of Utrecht, the passion for 
justice, the passion for freedom, the free- 



dom of faith, the right hand of fellowship, 
haven for John Robinson and John Locke, 
— federation, independence, toleration, ed- 
ucation, commerce, hospitality I Yet above 
all these in their service for the cause of the 
world's peace I place Holland's contribu- 
tion to international law. Above the name 
of Spinoza, above that of William the Silent, 
when we think of this great cause, the 
world's commanding cause to-day, we write 
the name of Hugo Grotius. With his great 
work upon "The Rights of War and Peace " 
the science of international law may almost 
be said to have been born into the world 
full-grown. "Of all works not claiming 
divine inspiration," said Andrew D. White 
at the tomb of Grotius in 1899, "that book 
has proved the greatest blessing to human- 
ity. More than any other it has prevented 
unmerited suffering, misery, and sorrow. 
More than any other it has promoted the 
blessings of peace and diminished the hor- 
rors of war." The American government 
and people never did themselves greater 
honor than when, on that Fourth of July, 
1899, by the hand of Mr. White, the head 
of our commission at The Hague, in pres- 
ence of the members of the first Peace Con- 
ference, they laid a silver wreath upon the 
tomb of Grotius in the great church at Delft, 
the Westminster Abbey of Holland, where 
William the Silent also sleeps. "From the 
heart and brain of Grotius," said Mr. White, 
"more than from those of any other, came 
a revelation to the modern world of new and 
better paths toward mercy and peace. His 
coming was like the rising of the sun out of 
the primeval abyss. We may reverently 
insist that, in the domain of International 
Law, Grotius said, 'Let there be light,' and 
there was light. It was mainly unheeded at 
first; yet the great light streaming from his 
heart and mind continued to shine, it de- 
veloped and fructified human thought, it 
warmed into life new and glorious growths 
of right reason as to international relations, 
and from his day to ours the progress of 
reason in theory and of mercy in practice 
has been constant." 

It is a just judgment. War under any 
possible circumstances is cruel and terrible; 
but the difference in the usages of war since 
Grotius wrote from the savagery of the 
Thirty Years' War, in whose midst he wrote, 
is the measure of his influence. Its measure 
is the steady growth of peaceful arbitration 



2 3 8 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



and international law down to the meetings 
of the Peace Conferences at The Hague in 
1899 and 1907. 

It was in 1625 that Grotius published his 
"Rights of War and Peace." He was at 
the time an exile in France. We remember 
the apostrophe of our own Bushnell, in his 
essay on the " Growth of Law:" "Go now 
with me to a little French town near Paris, 
and there you shall see in his quiet retreat 
a silent, thoughtful man, bending over his 
table and recording what deeply concerns 
the world. This man has no office or au- 
thority to make him a lawgiver other than 
what belongs to the gifts of his own per- 
son, a brilliant mind enriched by the am- 
plest stores of learning and nerved by the 
highest principles of moral justice and 
Christian piety. He is, in fact, a fugitive 
and an exile from his country, separated 
from all power but the simple power of 
truth and reason. But he dares, you will 
see, to write De Jure Belli et Pads. This 
is the man who was smuggled out of prison 
and out of his country, to give law to all the 
nations of mankind in all future ages. On 
the sea and on the land, on all seas and all 
lands, he shall bear sway. In the silence of 
his study he stretches forth the sceptre of 
law over all potentates and peoples, de- 
fines their rights, arranges their intercourse, 
gives them terms of war and terms of peace, 
which they may not disregard. In the days 
of battle, too, when kings and kingdoms are 
thundering in the shock of arms, this same 
Hugo Grotius shall be there in all the tur- 
moil of passion and the smoke of ruin, as a 
presiding throne of law, commanding above 
the commanders and, when the day is cast, 
prescribing to the victor terms of mercy and 
justice, which not even his hatred of the 
foe nor the exultation of the hour may dare 
to transcend." 

It was as early as 1604, twenty years be- 
fore its final preparation and publication, 
that Grotius, then holding the position of 
official historian of the struggle of the United 
Provinces with Spain, conceived the princi- 
ples and plan of his great work. By inter- 
esting coincidence, it was just a century be- 
fore that, in 1504, that Erasmus of Rotter- 
dam, in his panegyric to Philip of Burgundy, 
sounded his first note against the war sys- 
tem of nations, the note which he sounded 
louder in his " Praise of Folly," and louder 
still in his "Complaint of Peace." This re- 



nowned Dutch scholar was the first great 
modern apostle of peace; his "Complaint 
of Peace" was the most memorable plea for 
a united and fraternal world which men had 
seen since Dante's De Monarchia. It is 
a significant fact, almost forgotten and un- 
known, that the provocation to the writing 
of "The Complaint of Peace" was the fail- 
ure of a scheme for the organization and 
permanent peace of the nations of Europe 
in which some of the idealistic friends of 
Erasmus in the Low Countries succeeded 
in enlisting the interest of sundry royalties 
in 1517, — a "great design" which really an- 
tedated Henry of Navarre's by almost a 
century. 

It was in accord with the poetic justice 
and the historic fitness of things that the 
capital of Holland, the land of Grotius and 
Erasmus, should have been chosen as the 
seat of these most august and beneficent 
Congresses in modern times; for such surely 
history will pronounce the two Peace Con- 
ferences at The Hague. It was from the 
Government of the Netherlands that the 
formal invitations went to the nations. On 
the beautiful May day in 1899 when the 
first Conference opened, the flags of nearly 
all civilized countries were thrown to the 
breeze from the public buildings of the 
Dutch capital; and in the afternoon the rep- 
resentatives of twenty-five nations met for 
the opening ceremonies in the Orange Hall 
of the famous House in the Wood. The 
Netherlands Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
M. de Beaufort, called the meeting to order. 
"Her Majesty, my August Sovereign," he 
said, "animated by the same sentiments 
which have inspired the Emperor of all the 
Russians, has chosen to put at the disposal 
of this Conference the most beautiful his- 
torical monument which she possesses. 
The room where you find yourselves to-day, 
decorated by the greatest artists of the seven- 
teenth century, was erected by the widow of 
Prince Frederick Henry to the memory of 
her noble husband. Among the greatest of 
the allegorical figures which you will admire 
here, there is one appertaining to the peace 
of Westphalia, which merits your attention 
most especially. It is the one where you see 
Peace entering this room for the purpose of 
closing the Temple of Janus. I hope, gen- 
tlemen, that this beautiful allegory will be 
a good omen for your labors, and that, after 
they have been terminated, you will be able 



THE WORLD'S DEBT TO HOLLAND 



2 39 



to say that Peace, which here is shown to 
enter this room, has gone out for the pur- 
pose of scattering its blessings over all hu- 
manity." The Ambassador of Russia, M. 
de Staal, was unanimously elected president 
of the Conference. As he took the chair he 
said: "In the quiet surroundings of The 
Hague, in the midst of a nation which con- 
stitutes a most significant factor of universal 
civilization, we have under our eyes a stri- 
king example of what may be done for the 
welfare of peoples by valor, patriotism, and 
sustained energy. It is upon the historic 
ground of the Netherlands that the greatest 
problems of the political life of States have 
been discussed; it is here, one may say, that 
the cradle of International Law has stood; 
for centuries the important negotiations be- 
tween European Powers have taken place 
here; and it is here that the remarkable 
treaty was signed which imposed a truce 
during the bloody contest between States. 
We find ourselves surrounded by great his- 
toric traditions." 

It was surrounded by these great tradi- 
tions that the conferences went on, and that, 
on the 29th of July, 1899, the Arbitration 
Convention was signed which from that time 
on provided the nations with the necessary 
and easy means of settling their differences 
by the arbitrament of reason, instead of the 
arbitrament of arms; and which, as M. de 
Beaufort well said at the closing session of 

I the Conference, "opened a new era in the 
history of international relations between 
civilized peoples." 
Fourscore years before the Czar of Rus- 

! sia called the Conference at The Hague, 
Channing, in America, led the American 
Peace Society in petitioning our government 
to call just such a conference — writing the 
petition with his own hand. It should be 
said always that this in America was no 

j new idea, but the demand of one after 

I another of our great American prophets of 
peace for almost a hundred years. The fed- 
eration of the nations, when it comes, will 

I be through the extension to the world of 
essentially those same principles of organ- 
ization whose operation in the United States 
for more than a century has proved so ben- 
eficent — principles illustrated in high de- 
gree by the earliest federal Dutch Republic. 
The great Convention of 1899 made The 
Hague the headquarters of the Permanent 
International Tribunal which it constituted, 



and made the diplomatic representatives of 
the Signatory Powers accredited to The 
Hague, with the Netherlands Minister of 
Foreign Affairs as their president, its per- 
manent administrative Council. There is 
not in all the world to-day any place more 
sacred, any other which the student of his- 
tory and politics feels to be so big with 
prophecy, as the simple mansion at The 
Hague which now serves this international 
Bureau, the administrative and record office 
of the Court. Upon the walls hang pho- 
tographic groups of the various delegates to 
the historic first Conference. The American 
seeks the faces of Andrew D.White and Seth 
Low, and of Frederic Holls, the secretary 
of the American commission and the his- 
torian of the Conference, whose untimely 
death we mourn; it is in his careful book and 
in Mr. White's autobiography that we have 
our best American records of those eventful 
days. He remembers, before the portrait of 
Sir Julian Pauncefort, than whom no other 
did greater service at The Hague, the long 
years of that lamented minister's noble work 
in Washington, which did so much to make 
America and England better friends. Be- 
fore the portrait of Baron d'Estournelles de 
Constant he remembers how that prophetic 
Frenchman said at the closing meeting of 
the Conference: "This ought not to be the 
end; it should be the beginning" — and how 
his own life from that hour to this, in France, 
in England, in America, has been devoted 
to proving that it was a great beginning. 
When these pages are read the achievements 
of the second Hague Conference will be 
history. As they are given to the printer, 
those results are in the field of prophecy. 
The prophecy is that they will be worthy, 
as the results of the first Conference were 
worthy, and that as the memorable out- 
come of the first was the World Court, the 
outcome of the second will be a regular 
World Parliament. We are proud that the 
initiative for the Conference came from 
America; and we shall have reason to be 
proud of America's part in it. -%h'- : 5 

The American rejoices that one of his 
own countrymen has made munificent pro- 
vision for a worthy headquarters at The 
Hague for this great Court of the Nations. 
We are proud of the generous gifts of many 
of our men of wealth for the cause of edu- 
cation and progress; but among them all 
there has been no other in which those of us 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



who have at heart the peace and order of 
the world feel such peculiar pride and satis- 
faction as in Andrew Carnegie's gift of a 
million and a half of dollars for the Temple 
of Peace at The Hague, whose corner-stone 
has just been laid in this memorable sum- 
mer of the Parliament of Man — an event 
of peculiar significance to us Americans, 
like the tribute to Grotius by our represent- 
atives at the first Hague Conference on that 
noteworthy occasion in the old church at 
Delft. We hope one day to rear on the 
shore at Delftshaven a worthy monument 



to our Pilgrim Fathers and the hospitable 
land in which for those long years they found 
a home — speaking to us, like the great 
Faith monument at Plymouth, of the sacred 
past; but nobler and more grateful still will 
be this living monument, speaking to us ever 
through the years, and to all the world, of 
the better day to be — the day when the 
prophecy of the first Christmas song, of 
Erasmus and Grotius, of Penn and Kant, 
of Franklin and Jefferson, shall be fulfilled, 
and there shall be peace on earth and good 
will among men. 



THE OUTCASTS 



By CHARLOTTE BECKER 

They go their way from dawn till dark, with dull, averted eyes, 
That heed no lure of loveliness where earth's warm beauty lies; 
Ah, what to them if thrushes sing, or if the rose be red — 
Since they of what they crave the most are disinherited ? 

And some for doubt, and some for fear, and some for pride were doomed; 
And some flung budded dreams away to wither ere they bloomed; 
And others shut themselves apart, so deep in ancient lore 
They would not stir to welcome him when Love knocked at their door. 

Yet, though their gain be wealth, or wit, or fame blown far and wide, 
Without the pale of Love's domain forever they must bide: 
And none there is of this gray host who would not give his all 
If he might harken to Love's voice or answer to Love's call! 





In Praise of Xanthippe 

WITH no desire to enroll myself in that class 
of malcontents whose self-esteem does not 
permit them to share the opinion of the majority, 
or among those overweeningly fastidious and ex- 
ceptionally discerning critics who turn from the 
rose that all are praising to advocate the charms 
of the flower which is unhonored and unsung, I 
beg leave to speak a few words in vindication of a 
woman whom the whole world, ancient and mod- 
ern, has delighted to condemn. 

In no recorded instance has posterity been so 
implacable or tradition so persistent in defama- 
tion, with the exception of two or three heroic 
knights whose defence of this most unhappy lady 
I should pronounce eminently unsuccessful were 
I not sure that my own venture in her behalf will 
prove preeminently so. I fear I am her only friend ! 

And, in thus leading a forlorn hope, I am not 
without illustrious precedent and example. The 
rehabilitation of character seems to be the special 
work of the twentieth century; and the last years 
of the nineteenth century, true to the adventurous, 
not to say the defiant, spirit of a "finde Steele" 
produced many a free, if not formidable, lance for 
the championship of personalities which history 
has blackened with the vengeance and oppro- 
brium of centuries. We have lived to learn how 
fearless of contradiction the professional white- 
washer of historical characters can be. Science 
and literature have united to accomplish a total 
reversal of scientific and literary creeds. The 
poisons dreaded by our grandparents are not only 
innocuous to the present generation, but have be- 
come contributors to health! The sinners have 
been done over into saints, and the saints proven 
to be sinners. Nero has been renovated into a very 
interesting and amiable gentleman, who would 
have abhorred a conflagration, and Actea might 
esteem herself happy in the possession of so inno- 
cent a lover! Henry VIII. was a husband of whom 
any woman should be proud, and by no means the 



Bluebeard that he has been painted. He simply 
had the misfortune to get such villainous wives! 
Robespierre, the darling with a rosebud in his 
button-hole, was a charmer, if readers would only 
cast aside the verdict of malicious and mendacious 
historians and see the gentleman as he really is! 
And, mirabile dictu, what was Judas Iscariot but 
a patriot sublime! In short, all the bad people 
were really very good people, and there were no 
bad people except the good people ! And a parallel 
to these new faiths may be found in the confession 
of a boy of five years, whose rebellion against old 
creeds was excited by the rebukes of a Calvinistic 
grandmother: 

"Ah, William, you are very naughty, and 
Grandma is so sorry you let the devil make you so 
wilful and disobedient," pleaded the old lady. 

"I know you're always talking about the devil," 
replied the impudent youngster. "You say mean 
things about him, but I like him, 'cause he is a 
very nice gentleman indeed. I seen him once, and 
he was the prettiest of 'em all!" 

The vision of this "very nice gentleman" had 
been granted to the precocious urchin when he be- 
held a panorama of "Paradise Lost," in which, 
Satan, clad in scarlet, stands with one foot upon 
the earth! Evidently the "original brightness" of 
Milton's Lucifer was not lost upon the infant 
spectator. 

Yet, who has ever spoken a good word for 
Xanthippe ? 

It is true that Edouard Zeller endeavored to re- 
deem her name from enduring contempt in his 
essay "Zur Ehrenrethung der Xanthippe" and 
another defender appears in a German, Heumann 
by name, who put forth an apology for the slan- 
dered lady in an article in Acta Philosophorum, 
where he presents a parallel between the wife of 
Socrates and Luther's Catharine von Bora, who 
labored as strenuously for the proper adjustment 
of the Reformer as Xanthippe did for the manage- 
ment of the Philosopher. But of all arguments ad- 
duced for the inveterate defamation of Xanthippe, 



241 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



that of Zeller is perhaps the most plausible. The 
injured woman is the victim of the obdurate, un- 
accommodating nature of the letter X. 

The ideas of infant minds are made to sprout 
through the hotbed agency of the Primer, and how 
has the German Primer villined the name of Xan- 
thippe! The name Xerxes had been made to do 
alphabetical duty in the "New England Primer," 
thus: 

"Xerxes did die, 
And so must I," 

a statement which by no means impeaches the 
character of the great Persian, but the German 
Primer is a standard chronicler of scandal in its 
slanderous couplets: 

"Xanthippe war ein boses Weib 
Der Zank war ihr ein Zeitvertreib," 

the English of which is : 

"Xanthippe was a shrewish wife; 
To scold was her delight in life." 

And again, a lesson in mathematics is thus con- 
veyed : 

"Xanthippe ihren man anfuhr, 
X mal X macht hundert nur," 

which, translated, reads: 

"Xanthippe at her husband thundered, 
X times X makes just one hundred." 

Nor did this manufacture of libels suffice the in- 
satiable archer, for behold another: 

"Schon ist es lange Mitternacht 
Da sitzt ein Mann und schreibt und wacht, 
Sein Weib ist Zankisch und genau 
Xanthippe heisst die bose Frau," 

which snivelling hypocrisy may be rendered : 

"Lo in the midnight long and deep 
A husband writes — he cannot sleep. 
His wife's a fretful, scolding dame; 
Xanthippe is this bad wife's name." 

Now, just why the author of this slander should 
represent his hero as writing is an unanswerable 
conundrum, for Socrates did not write. The 
gentleman's forte was talking. Nor was he a 
lecturer, even of the peripatetic school, as were 
other philosophers in Athens. The slandered 
Xanthippe's lord was eminently colloquial, not to 
say loquacious. His lectures were of the button- 
hole character in the market and on the corners 
of the streets. And why should the Primer illus- 
trate Xanthippe's temper when the renowned 
Xerxes offered not only the letter X, but an in- 
stance of unreasonable temper which has no equal; 
for it is definitely stated that when the force of the 
waves swept away a pontoon bridge which he had 



constructed across the Dardanelles, he was so en- 
raged that he inflicted three hundred lashes on the 
rebellious sea, and cast chains of iron across it. 
Whether this merciless scourging was administered 
to waves or engineers, the absurdity of ungovern- 
able temper could no further go. The upsetting 
of a table by poor Xanthippe is a trifle compared 
to it! 

But in making mention of Xanthippe's defend- 
ers, I must add the name of America's greatest 
Grecian, Gildersleeve, whose championship of the 
unfortunate lady is quite as able as that of Zeller 
or Heumann, and we do well to accept his sugges- 
tion that the philosopher's wife was of high birth, 
inasmuch as names compounded with hippos — 
horse — were esteemed aristocratic in Athens be- 
cause of an early religious connection with Posei- 
don, to whom the horse was sacred, and who pre- 
ceded Athena in the guardianship of the city. 
Only those despise good birth who have not had 
it, and we know that a son of Pericles was named 
Xanthippus, and, as the Athenians were wont to 
perpetuate family names as a sort of entailed prop- 
erty, it is not assuming too much to infer a rela- 
tionship between the wife of Socrates and the great 
Olympian. 

But it may be asked, and not without reason, 
was there no foundation for the unsavory reputa- 
tion of Xanthippe ? Is it possible that such clouds 
of smoke should ascend from a spot where there 
was never a spark of fire ? And the answer to this 
legitimate question may be given in the language 
of the highest authority: "Behold how great a mat- 
ter a little fire kindlethl" Again, "The tongue is a 
fire, a world of iniquity 7" Herein lies the secret of 
the whole story. The reputation of poor Xanthippe 
was due to the tongues of a city whose citizens 
were always in quest of something new to discuss, 
and gossip in the beautiful city under the protec- 
tion of Pallas did not grow less by repetition, any 
more than it does in Boston, where Minerva con- 
tinues her undisputed reign. We know Virgil's 
wonderful picture of the potency of rumor! Xan- 
thippe had cause, patent to all observers, for many 
a burst of temper. "She ought to be angry," says 
one; "She is furious," says another! 

Many of us know the advice given by an old 
lawyer to one just entering upon his career: 
"When you have no case, young man, then abuse 
the other side." Such injustice is too common in 
the practice or malpractice of lawyers, and in my 
unworthy efforts to vindicate a much-traduced 
lady I scorn to resort to this ad captandum method, 
notwithstanding the latitude accorded to legal 
sinuosities; but it is not unfair to weigh evidence 
and thus balance on the other side. 



EDITOR'S TABLE 



243 



Abuse Socrates? Perish the thought! But let 
us ask what sort of a husband was this Greek 
philosopher. A most uncomfortable one. And 
again, who was the most persistent defamer of 
Xanthippe? Without doubt, Xenophon, who de- 
clared, "Xanthippe is the most insupportable of 
all women who ever have been or ever will be." 

And who was Xenophon? A historian who 
avails himself of the privilege and, in his opinion, 
the prerogative of his vocation to praise what he 
likes and abuse whatever and whoever he dislikes. 
I leave it to posterity to decide how far the word 
I insupportable " should apply to him. Those who 
think otherwise of him have never waded through 
the "Anabasis;" and if he had not seen a person 
far more insupportable than Xanthippe, then the 
mirrors of his establishment were sadly in need of 
polishing or he had never seen himself as others 
saw him. If all accounts of him are true, his own 
reputation is necessitous of deodorization. That 
Xanthippe did not like him we can easily believe. 
Amid the stirring and portentous events of the 
Peloponnesian War, it is not likely that a degen- 
erate son of Athens would occupy a high place in 
her esteem. A trickster in politics, who had in- 
j| curred the contempt of reputable Athenians, hardly 
jj appealed to the favor of any patriotic woman, and 
I must have been especially obnoxious to one whose 
jj very name indicated her loyalty to the proudest 
I city of Greece. As a friend of Socrates, he was 
doubtless often in her home, and to have an old 
prig like Xenophon sitting round from day to day, 
discoursing in maddening detail, as he does in that 
educational discipline to which we submitted in 
our school-days, must have irritated the most 
amiable woman in the world. It is my opinion that 
I Griselda herself would have made a scene, almost 
as dramatic as that which illustrates her patience 
to the eyes of posterity! So much for Xenophon! 
But, to test the stream at its source, was Socrates 
j himself immaculate of criticism in his social and 
domestic life ? We need not consider the fact that 
Aristophanes made him a subject of satire in the 
"Clouds," since Aristophanes laughed at every- 
body. "Cetait son metier." But it cannot be 
denied that Socrates was much of a meddler in 
other men's matters, and, like most busybodies, 
was culpably negligent of his own affairs. He had 
a constitutional antipathy to work, spending his 
time asking questions, and when he obtained an 
answer he straightway tortured it into another 
conundrum, and did not hesitate to make his oppo- 
nent ridiculous. No man likes to be made the butt 
of another's jokes, and hence Socrates was often 
distasteful to the Athenian mind. It is true that 
Protagoras made short work of his flexible argu- 



ments, which he bent into so many shapes; but 
every Athenian was not a sophist who enjoyed the 
demolition of sophistries, and it is not strange that 
the comic poet Eupolis took up the cudgel in be- 
half of many who could not defend themselves, as 
he did most aptly in the words : 

"I hate him too, that Socrates, that prating, jab- 
bering beggar, 
So very thoughtful of all things else — 
But whence he shall get his bread, neglecting 
altogether." 

These lines leave no doubt as to Socrates' stand- 
ing as a family man. To haunt the public market 
for the purpose of seducing men into doubtful dis- 
putations, and propounding subtle conundrums, 
cannot be esteemed a certain means of livelihood, 
and we can but admire the ingenuous spirit of 
Protagoras when he said, "It is better to express 
one's opinion openly than for a man to allege with 
false modesty that he knows nothing, and then pre- 
tend that he knows everything better than others." 

This direct thrust at the pride which apes humil- 
ity found a response in the mind of many an 
Athenian and doubtless in the heart of poor 
Xanthippe, whose larder received no addition from 
the adroitly wielded pro and con of her philosopher 
husband. Talking and laughing in the market 
buttered no parsnips, as Xanthippe knew to her 
cost. And to be made herself the butt of ridicule 
was more than any wife could bear, as when 
Antisthenes asked of Socrates, "Why do you not 
train Xanthippe, the most shrewish of women?" 
and Socrates replied, "I married her as those who 
wish to become expert horsemen choose mettle- 
some horses, thinking if they can manage them 
they can manage all." Can we wonder that out- 
raged womanhood found voice in the bitterness of 
reproach and upbraiding ? In whatever spirit this 
conjugal boast was uttered, it stands recorded in 
the biography of Socrates by Diogenes of Laerte. 

And Socrates talked with anybody; "all was grist 
that came to his mill," and he delighted as much 
in entrapping boys into his network of reasoning 
as in silencing the most ingenious sophist in 
Athens. A stone-cutter, or sculptor, if we prefer, 
by trade, he did not work systematically, and the 
Three Graces, attributed to him, has also been 
attributed to another artist. Nor was he ashamed 
of idleness; for it is said that Archelaus of Macedon 
once invited him, with promise of considerable 
reward, to join his court-circle, and Socrates re- 
plied, with all the air of the imperturbable truth- 
seeker, "In Athens, four measures of flour are sold 
for an obolus, and water is to be had for nothing." 

An obolus amounts to three cents, and the sang- 
froid of this reply of the Greek philosopher can 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



only be matched by one in modern times, when a 
confiding young bride said to her liege-lord, "O 
Charles, I could live with you on bread and water." 

"Well, my dear, you hustle round and get the 
bread and I will try to find a little water," was the 
response of the up-to-date bridegroom. Thus it 
is; extremes meet and marrying a philosopher of 
the ancient or modern school by no means insures 
a bed of roses to the trusting wife. 

Yet the unkindest cut of all the slings and ar- 
rows endured by poor Xanthippe was inflicted 
through a false position, — being made to appear in 
the wrong when she was manifestly in the right. 
The experience of all will rise here as an unim- 
peachable witness. Could anything be more gall- 
ing to a noble mind ? I know of nothing more ex- 
asperating than the pose of guilt as injured inno- 
cence, — trading on the sympathy of the unin- 
formed and undiscerning, — and it need not be said 
that this ostentatious display of virtue generally 
does its banking business on a fictitious capital. 
How provoking and how humiliating to Xanthippe 
must have been all this pretence! For example, his 
reply to the interrogatory why he did not chastise 
his wife when she seized his cloak in the market: 

"What, to have bystanders exclaim, Go it, 
Socrates! Go it, Xanthippe!" 

And here it is only fair to inquire into the au- 
thority for all these stories concerning Xanthippe's 
outbursts of temper, and to say that the amount 
of conflicting evidence which honest inquiry elicits 
ought to have put them out of court long ago 
Plutarch's version of the table story is that one day 
Socrates brought Euthydemus home with him to 
dinner, and Xanthippe rushed at him in a towering 
passion, abused him with violent language, and 
upset the table, whereupon Euthydemus rose to 
leave the house. Socrates immediately drew upon 
his fund of philosophy and said, "Tut! Tut! Why, 
at your house, the other day, a hen flew in and upset 
the table, and I did not get angry." 

Unfortunately for Xanthippe's villifiers, this 
story is made to do duty with Alcibiades in the 
stead of Euthydemus, with the addition of a little 
drama of sulking and temper on the part of Alci- 
biades, and on another occasion a little comedy 
enacted by Socrates when he returned the visit. 
Again, the same story is told of Phocion, whose 
wife was called a termagant, and also of Pittacus, 
who was said to be another hen-pecked husband; 
so it seems that the unfortunate Xanthippe was a 
sort of clothes-horse upon which all kinds of libel- 
lous fabrications were hung, to suit the taste or the 
spite of Athenian newsmongers. 

But the poet Eupolis is not the only authority 
for the unpopularity of Socrates. Aristoxenes 



represents him as rude and passionate, without 
respect for the proprieties of society, and the elder 
Cato gives him the same character; yet ill-tempered 
men are not invariably without qualities which 
render them acceptable as husbands, and the con- 
stant thorn in Xanthippe's flesh was perhaps not 
so much his temper as his utter worthlessness. 
Socrates was a very poor provider, and a cantank- 
erous husband and an empty larder are not a de- 
sirable combination. Besides, if Xanthippe was 
the high-born lady of the sangre azul of Athens 
which her patrician name would lead us to be- 
lieve, how painful to her sensitive nature must have 
been the grossness of the plebeian stone-cutter, not- 
withstanding the applause bestowed upon the 
truth-seeker. Dirt and shabbiness may be phil- 
osophic, but they are distasteful to the refinement 
of every age. 

Nor was this evil the only torment which vexed 
the tried, if not the righteous soul of Xanthippe. 
Her liege-lord had a habit of inviting guests to 
take pot-luck with him, when he could not have 
been ignorant of the fact that there was nothing in 
the pot and nae luck about the house. Not unfre- 
quently, some bond-holder of Athens — Crito or 
possibly Hipponicus — was ushered in to a feast 
of herbs or nothing; and does the wife live who 
could endure such treatment with equanimity ? 

A man, too, is known by the company he keeps, 
and some of Socrates' pet associates were not likely 
to make home happy. Xanthippe's tastes doubtless 
were not as catholic as those of her husband, and 
a cobbler like Simon, who affected philosophy and 
argument and the ingenuity of sophistry; the blus- 
tering, blatant Apollodorus, vulgar and ill-bred; 
the impertinent little tyro, Chaerephon, chronicler 
of the small beer of Athens, must have made the 
poor wife rue the day she married the philosopher! 
As for Xenophon, he has so many enemies to-day 
that further criticism of him would be like attack- 
ing a dead body. But of all the intimates of Soc- 
rates, none could equal that privileged scion of 
aristocracy, Alcibiades! In this age he would be 
characterized by that significant sobriquet gen- 
erally applied to the utterly irreclaimable — " the 
terror"! 

He was, in sooth, as those of us who have had 
the privilege of a negro mammy nurse can appre- 
ciate, "a torn-down piece, a limb on the face of 
the earth!" Hated and loved by the Athenians, 
there was nothing this graceless, graceful scape- 
grace did not dare. He was the master-spirit and 
ringleader of the "jeunesse doree" of Athens, and 
founded the society of Ithyphallians, which in- 
cluded the most reckless youth of the city, — men 
whose unbridled caprices rendered them worthy 



EDITOR'S TABLE 



2 45 



of such a patron as the demon Ithyphallus. In 
derision of the law which forbade carousing before 
noon, these choice spirits instituted a drinking- 
bout which held its orgies during the earliest hours 
of the day; and what this illustrious club did not 
do in the riotous amusement of painting Athens a 
gorgeous crimson could not have been conceived 
by the largest Greek imagination! The story of 
the flogging he gave the pedagogue because that 
worthy did not have a copy of Homer at hand is 
well known, but other escapades, which better de- 
serve the name of crimes, recorded by Thucydides 
and others, are not so current. A more disgusting 
instance of insolence could hardly be imagined 
than when this social hero entered the house of 
Amytus, during a banquet, and took away half the 
vessels of gold and silver, and the host, himself a 
patrician, merely remarked, "Let us thank the 
gods he did not take the other half!" If, then, this 
dare-devil, who drove the finest dog-cart, or its 
equivalent, in Athens, dared such outrages in the 
houses of the rich and powerful, what must have 
been the excess of impropriety perpetrated in 
Xanthippe's home — wretched as it was with all 
the bitterness of penury? Can we wonder that, 
provoked to utmost wrath by brutal insult, she 
rushed at him and upset the table! And we do 
well to bear in mind the fragile workmanship of the 
tables used by the Greeks, — little tripods which 
the slightest movement could upset! 

Just why Socrates should have found this rep- 
robate so congenial is not easy to determine. It is 
said that they had mutual cause for gratitude and 
friendship, Socrates having saved the life of Alci- 
biades in the breach of Potidsea, and Alcibiades 
having rescued the philosopher at the battle of 
Delium. The persistent character of such a friend- 
ship is easily understood, but hardly justifies a lack 
of respect for the philosopher's wife. Nor is it easy 
to comprehend why Pericles tolerated the iniquities 
of a scamp who was his ward and lived in his house. 
No doubt late hours and prolonged absences were 
piously accounted for by stories of sacrifices to the 
gods, and similar inventions; and, like all lofty 
souls, the great Olympian wished to believe the 
best. And never a word has Pericles uttered against 
Xanthippe, whom he must have known. The great 
Olympian was a gentleman! 

Why Athens endured and embraced one who 
defied her laws can be understood only by a thor- 
ough appreciation of the Greek adoration of 
beauty. With all his sins, Alcibiades had, as Mrs. 
Browning said of Napoleon, the genius to be 
loved: "He was fair to look upon, instinct with 
every grace of courageous manhood, and possessed 
of such intellectual brightness and social fascina- 



tion that Aristophanes voiced the minds of the 
Athenians in his words: 

'"They love and hate, 
And cannot do without him.'" 

How much attention Alcibiades bestowed upon 
his personal pulchritude is revealed in his refusal 
to play on the flute because it disfigured his beauti- 
ful countenance, and the beauty-loving Athenians, 
gazing on that countenance, forgave him all. 

And how the beauty of Alcibiades contrasted 
with that prototype of ugliness, the husband of 
Xanthippe! No face of the men of ancient Greece 
so conspicuous for hideousness as the face of 
Socrates! A worthless husband who is good-look- 
ing can be endured, but a bad husband who is 
ugly — O my! Clumsy and ill-proportioned, the 
gait of Socrates resembled the waddling of an 
aquatic bird, and his untidiness of attire was a by- 
word in the market. If not one of the "sans- 
culottes," he certainly might be classed among the 
"va-nus-pie&s" and to go barefoot in Athens no 
well-bred woman could tolerate. 

He was fond of comparing himself to a torpedo- 
fish that gave electric shocks, and his slovenliness 
and want of gentility must have shocked Xanthippe 
with many a pang of humiliation. A husband ad- 
dicted to fits is a burden upon any woman's heart, 
and, standing on the street, lost in the depth of 
philosophical thought, a butt for the jeers and 
fleers of passers-by, does not enhance the attractive- 
ness of a husband in the eyes of any wife. 

And notwithstanding his shabbiness, Socrates 
was nothing loth to exhibit himself among the 
"elite." He was eminently a "diner-out." He 
visited Aspasia and Pericles and fared sumptu- 
ously at the house of Hipponicus, in the company 
of Sophocles, Protagoras, Phidias, Anaxagoras, 
and other great Athenians, while poor Xanthippe 
must needs content herself with the cheapest 
edibles. Artistic pleasures he had for the asking, 
and it was after beholding the danseuse Theodota, 
in her role of impersonation, that he resolved to 
take dancing-lessons — and these lessons were 
taken at home I Then followed instruction in music 
on the cithern from a cheap teacher, one Connus; 
and as practice was performed at home, poor Xan- 
thippe's eyes and ears were assailed, until she 
must have prayed the gods for deliverance from 
insanity! 

Picture a miserable hovel, scant of comfort as of 
room; old Connus thumping away on the cithern; 
Socrates disporting his ungainly proportions in 
time to the halting measures, for the playing of 
Connus was none too good; Alcibiades applauding 
with uproarious guffaws; Apollodorus shouting 



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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



and directing as a stage manager; and perhaps old 
Xenophon prosing and snoring in a corner! And 
to heap Ossa on Pelion, Xanthippe was expected 
to provide an abundant menu for this convivial 
party! In New England Socrates would have been 
in the divorce court before he had taken his second 
dancing-lesson! 

As a final tribute to our slandered heroine, let 
me say that Lamprocles, her son, testified that she 
was a good mother, nursing him in sickness, and 
praying the gods daily for his welfare. Like most 
women, she forgot and forgave in the hour of her 
husband's suffering, and, accompanied by Crito's 
servants, went home from his prison weeping 
aloud and beating her breast in the abandonment 
of grief. Can history show a more pathetic scene ? 
Unfortunate woman, the victim of brilliant an- 
tithesis, doomed to infamy by the grandiloquence 
of rhetoricians! — serene philosopher; nagging 



wife! O Rhetoric, how many crimes are committed 
in thy name: 

Alas, I fear that I have contended in vain against 
this old and time-honored antithesis. It is too 
mighty for me, but if I have persuaded one man 
or woman to compassionate my slandered client, 
I shall be glad to receive an acknowledgment of 
the conversion; and for the benefit of the college 
maidens, who, of course, are quite independent of 
translations, I subjoin the poem: 

"Madchen wer ergriindet euch? 
Rathsel ohne Ende! 
Arg und falsch und engelgleich 
Wer das reimen konnte. 

"O nicht sussen Honig nur, 
Fuhren eure Lippen 
Und so seid ihr von Natur 
Liebliche Xanthippen!" 

Zitella Cocke. 



ISEULT OF BRITTANY 



By MARGARET ASHMUN 

Hooded, she walks the strand. May it not be 

That Tristram comes from out the West to-night? 

Far-yearning, forth she leans, and strains her sight 
Beyond the purple blackness of the sea 
For some late sign, vague-symboling " 'T is he!" 

Low on the sky, a livid stretch of light 

Lies blank as her lost years; a sharp, still blight, 
Recurring, slays her hope. So lorn is she 

Her heart goes coveting its joyance when 
She bode, a trustful maid, too blind to mark 

The shameful, cold disloyalty of men; 
Her widowed soul grows slowly stern and stark 

With sick, fierce thoughts of bitterness — and then 
She hears his children calling through the dark. 



; 



A BARREL OF PLUM DUFF 



By WILLIAM H. DEARDEN 



3 



ONG familiarity with the doc- 
trine that a captain is absolute 
monarch of his vessel at sea has 
led to the firmly grounded be- 
lief that death or the dungeon 
is the certain punishment for disrespect to a 
ship's master. Here is a true story of a cap- 
tain whose vessel-load of men bombarded 
him for two days with portions of a barrel 
of plum duff, in convenient handfuls, who 
lived a life of misery for weeks, yet who 
thanked God when he reached New York, 
and kept his mouth shut. The trip is one of 
those unrecorded incidents of the Civil War, 
especially of the depredations of the Confed- 
erate privateer Alabama. The plum duff 
was wielded by hardy whalers from New 
Bedford and Cape Cod, many a one of 
whom is now a retired sea-captain, and their 
mark was an English skipper. 

The story is told by one of those who 
helped in the job and enjoyed it, Ulysses E. 
Mayhew, of West Tisbury, on Martha's 
Vineyard. Mr. Mayhew is now the pro- 
prietor of the general store in his town, and a 
member of the Legislature from his dis- 
trict. During the war he was a cabin-boy on 
a New Bedford whaling- vessel. 

Mr. Mayhew sailed as cabin-boy in the 
whaler Lafayette, from New Bedford, May 
20, 1862. That Lafayette was a full-rigged 
bark, Captain William Lewis, and carried 
four boats, which meant a crew of thirty- 
two men. For almost a year she cruised, 
evading Confederate privateers, until, on 
April 15, 1863, she came to grief off Fer- 
nando de Norono, a Brazilian convict 
prison island some three hundred miles off 
the coast of Brazil. At that time she had 
aboard one hundred and seventy barrels of 
oil, worth $90 a barrel. For seven months 
the Lafayette had been out of sight of land, 
so when the island appeared there was gen- 
eral rejoicing at the prospect of getting some 
fresh vegetables, and possibly some fresh 
meat. With the Lafayette at this time was 
cruising the Kate Corey, a brig out of Matta- 
poisett, Captain Stephen Flanders. The 



Kate Corey carried but three boats. She 
had been out about the same period as the 
Lafayette, and had one hundred and thirty 
barrels of oil aboard. 

Both vessels were becalmed about eight 
or ten miles off the shore, so the two cap- 
tains rowed ashore together to get fresh 
food enough to last until the whalers reached 
the West Indies. From the Lafayette could 
be seen with a glass the masts of two vessels 
in the little harbor of the island, partly hid- 
den by a point of land. One was evidently 
a full-rigged ship, and the other was bark- 
rigged but had no spars aloft. During the 
morning the Lafayette and the Kate Corey 
worked their way in a mile or two, until, in 
the afternoon, when they were both com- 
pletely becalmed, the Lafayette was about 
six miles out and the Kate Corey half a mile 
astern. 

Caught thus, they had no chance to es- 
cape when there came out of the harbor the 
vessel rigged as a bark with no spars aloft, 
propelled by steam. This was instantly rec- 
ognized as the dreaded Alabama, the Eng- 
lish-fitted Confederate privateer under com- 
mand of the famous Captain Semmes. The 
Alabama hove the Kate Corey to first, put a 
crew aboard, and then came up to the 
Lafayette. 

"Haul back your yards, shorten sail, and 
we'll send a boat aboard," came the orders 
across the water to the New Bedford 
whaler. 

Promptly the Lafayette obeyed, for the 
mates and crew were ready. More than 
half an hour had elapsed since the Alabama 
had been recognized, and every man had 
taken the time to conceal about his person 
what valuables he might have had. The 
boarding-crew from the Alabama first seized 
the nautical instruments and then demanded 
the slop-chest. So many vessels had been 
captured that unless it was decided to put a 
prize crew aboard a vessel to take her back 
to port or to operate her as a privateer, 
Captain Semmes merely took the nautical 
instruments and the clothes from the slop- 

247 



248 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



chest, kept aboard every vessel for sale to 
the crew. The Lafayette's mate, Frank 
Cottle, would not tell where the slop-chest 
could be found. Without delay the whaling- 
crew was tumbled into boats and put aboard 
the Kate Corey. Fifteen minutes after the 
Lafayette had been hove to she was a mass 
of flames, and the Alabama was towing the 
Kate Corey into port. 

That night the unfortunate Massachu- 
setts men spent in the harbor aboard the 
Kate Corey. It developed that the full- 
rigged ship in port was the Louisa Hatch, of 
Rockland, Maine, which had been captured 
about three weeks before, loaded with coal. 
The Alabama kept the Louisa Hatch with 
her until the coal was gone, and then burned 
her. 

Meanwhile the two captains were ashore, 
fully aware of their misfortune. Captain 
Lewis was comparatively lucky, for he had 
saved his money, several hundred dollars in 
gold. During the cruise he had whiled 
away time sewing the gold pieces into his 
underclothing, and, in spite of the discom- 
fort, he had worn them ashore for safe 
keeping. 

Realizing that the crews might be carried 
away on a prize ship, Captain Lewis deter- 
mined to rescue young Mayhew. Accord- 
ingly, he sent word to the Alabama that his 
son was the cabin-boy of the Lafayette and 
he would like to have him released. The 
word came to the Kate Corey to send Cap- 
tain Lewis's son to the Alabama, as his father 
wanted him; but somebody sent word back 
that Captain Lewis had no son aboard. 
After some consultation word came back to 
the Kate Corey to send Mayhew, and ac- 
cordingly he was rowed over to the famous 
privateer, being the only member of the two 
whaling-crews to set foot aboard her. 

Mayhew improved his half-hour on the 
Alabama by prying about and seeing all that 
he could. Aboard her was the crew of the 
schooner Kingfisher, also from Massachu- 
setts, which had been captured some time 
previously. Captain Lambert of the King- 
fisher overheard the name Mayhew and 
looked the boy up, and he was a neighbor 
on the Vineyard. At the end of half an hour 
the cabin-boy was sent ashore to join Cap- 
tain Lewis. 

Meanwhile Captain Semmes was figuring 
out what to do with all his prisoners, and 
finally he decided to put them ashore and 



let them go. The Governor of the little 
island protested vigorously, because of the 
international complications that were likely 
to develop. Semmes went ahead and landed 
his prisoners, with enough provisions from 
the Kate Corey to keep them from starva- 
tion. Among the incidents of the next few 
days were the burning of the Kate Corey and 
the Louisa Hatch, the calling-in of the pri- 
vateer Florida, and the steaming away of 
the Alabama. 

A little Brazilian schooner in port carried 
half a dozen of the whalers over to the main- 
land, to notify the American consul at Per- 
nambuco that one hundred and thirty Amer- 
ican sailors were stranded out on the island. 
He sent a steamer over for the whole forlorn 
outfit and began to look for a vessel to take 
them to New York. The whalers never for- 
gave that consul for the quarters he pro- 
vided them and the paucity of supplies he 
furnished pending the start for home, for he 
kept them on a little island down the road- 
stead, short of food and clothing. Young 
Mayhew was still kept under the care of 
his captain; indeed, on the island he had 
boarded with the Governor, in company 
with the two captains. The Governor, in- 
cidentally, was removed from office by his 
government for permitting Semmes to land 
the prisoners, and sailed for Pernambuco 
with the whalers. 

Finally, the American consul chartered 
the English brig Mary Garland, Captain 
James, for $8,000 to take the one hundred 
and thirty men to the States. A " slave 
deck" was built in her, and two rows of 
mattresses laid along it for bedding, and 
two little boxes of clothing were bought for 
the whole outfit. On May 25, forty days 
after the capture, the Mary Garland set sail 
for New York and the fun began. 

The Mary Garland was an English vessel 
captained by an Englishman and manned 
by an English crew of nine or ten men. The 
Alabama had been fitted out in England, 
practically by Englishmen. To England 
the whalers blamed all their misfortunes, so 
their attitude towards the captain of the 
Mary Garland may easily be imagined. 

Immediately on sailing, the whalers, by 
general agreement among themselves, di- 
vided up into three watches of forty men 
each. On board were four New England 
captains and a dozen mates, besides dozens 
of other veteran whalers who could navi- 



A BARREL OF PLUM DUFF 



249 



gate, every one of them, better than the 
average English captain. The four cap- 
tains were given quarters in the captain's 
cabin, Mayhew with them, but even the 
captains joined in the plans. 

Captain James set the course for New 
York, and that was the last he had to say on 
that trip, he or his little crew. The whalers 
promptly clapped on all sail; for they 
wanted to get home, and they did not pro- 
pose to consult the English captain as to 
how they got there. For the twenty-six 
days of the trip the actual captain of the 
brig would have had more privileges if he 
had been a mere passenger. Once he sug- 
gested mildly that a little too much sail was 
being carried. The navigators of his self- 
appointed crew did not intend to take les- 
sons from him, so all hands went below, 
dragged out an extra spar, rigged up a jury 
royal mast, and set a main royal sail. All 
sail was carried, and carried hard, under the 
leadership of the mate of the Louisa Hatch. 
Once some sail was carried away, but that 
bothered no one but Captain James, for 
there was plenty more below. 

After they were a few days out the cook 
gave out word that there was a barrel of 
flour aboard which could be used as the 
men thought best. The cook was ordered 
to cook it up into plum duff, and so he tried. 
The job was a failure, and only a barrelful 
of a half -cooked, soggy mass resulted. Im- 
mediately a conference was held as to the 
best disposition of the plum duff, and it was 
unanimously voted to throw it at Captain 
James. The mass was divided between the 
watches, and the plan set in motion. 

Captain James was on the quarter deck 
when the first assignment of plum duff 
sailed over and took him in the ear. As he 
was about to order somebody put into irons, 
another ball hit him in the mouth. More 
plum duff was in the air as he took to his 
cabin. Occasionally he bobbed out, but 
there was always a watch on deck, fully 
armed with missiles, and from every part of 



the deck and rigging he was bombarded. It 
took the crew two days to use it all, without 
wasting any. 

All up the coast the Mary Garland sighted 
other vessels, and every time the lookout 
called, all the men rushed to the bulwarks. 
Again and again the whalers tried to speak 
one of the vessels, but always the others fled 
away under full sail. The presence of so 
many men on the deck convinced every 
passing craft that the Mary Garland was a 
privateer, and they had no occasion to ex- 
change talk with such a scourge. 

By the time the brig sailed into New 
York Captain James was boiling mad, but 
sufficiently suppressed so that he did not 
flaunt it. In the harbor he picked up cour- 
age and made one last futile stand. The 
whaling-captains had gone ashore in a tug 
and the brig was surrounded by boats of 
boarding-house keepers to take off the men, 
when some one of the one hundred and 
thirty decided that he would need his mat- 
tress ashore, and brought it up from below. 
Every man followed the lead. 

"Here, put those back. Those belong to 
me," shouted Captain James, angrily stri- 
ding forward as the men were throwing the 
mattresses overboard to the boarding-house 
boats. 

In a very brief time the mate of the Louisa 
Hatch had appointed a detail to throw the 
captain overboard. As the detail started in 
to carry out instructions Captain James 
gave in. The mattresses went overboard 
instead, and the whalers with them. As 
long as the last of those boats was within 
hearing distance Captain James was on deck, 
giving his opinion of American whalers. 

Eventually all of the captured captains 
and men came in for their share of the 
Alabama award, paid, after the Geneva 
conference, to the United States by England. 
The awards carried the entire loss of the 
crews on their share of the burned oil, and 
ran from some hundreds to many thousands 
of dollars. 




ANYTHING which will diminish worry or 
^~*-help to conquer that useless, and worse than 
useless, that deadly and dangerous, habit we wel- 
come with gratitude. 

Even two words in big blue letters, from a well- 
known advertisement — "Don't Worry, but Use 
Somorio" — which were given me years ago, have 
proved a blessing to me and many of my guests. 
Those two words occupied a conspicuous position 
in my library, and every one who came noticed 
them and inquired where I found them. 

A fine sonnet was inspired by them; half a dozen 
journalists have made them the theme of a stirring 
editorial; in reports of visits to my home those two 
short words have always been copied and ap- 
plauded. And they have influenced my mental 
habit more than many sermons, and many books 
on the duty of a cheerful spirit. 

They are still my stand-by motto: "Don't Wor- 
ry!" 

Therefore 1 am especially interested in a book 
by the prolific and always worth-while writer, Dr. 
C. W. Saleeby, Fellow of the Royal Society of 
Edinburgh and a practising physician in London, 
on the threadbare theme of "Worry." I assure you 
that it is a most convincing argument against it, 
and far better than drugs and anodynes for the 
unfortunates who are ever looking either back into 
the irrevocable Past with regrets or remorse, or 
out into an unknown Future with fears, tears, and 
forebodings. Such heart-fatiguers and nerve- 
depleters are to me as guilty of crime as if they act- 
ually injected poison into the veins of their un- 
willing listeners. Even a guinea-pig will die if the 
highly poisonous sap pressed from the muscles of 
other pigs killed by exhaustion from running round 
and round a treadmill be put in its veins. 

How many of us have endured that wearing 
discipline of being dragged round and round the 
mental treadmill of a selfish and weak-minded 
egotist as he (or she) mourns and whines about 
money lost in poor investments; other mistakes in 
250 



matters of conduct or health, even bringing up 
with dreary details what he said, what he or they 
said, what ought to have been said; all their dis- 
eases since birth; all their accidents; how they lost 
their hair; what a dreadful time they have had 
with their teeth; what a lot of sickness and death 
in their neighborhood; and how they don't expect 
to last long — the only gleam of light in the end- 
less chain of gloom to the unwilling listener. 

I'm "for" Dr. Saleeby: he is a eudaemonist as 
well as a philosopher, and still not a materialist 
— rather an idealist. He reveres true religion and 
declares that worry, being an almost inevitable 
consequence of the facts of human nature, can be 
avoided only by the power of a living creed. 

He writes with an easy grace, entirely free from 
pedantry or a partial view, giving to his readers 
the best procurable on many vital themes as now 
seen and explained by the new thinkers and their 
marvellous discoveries. 

He has given us the latest ideas and facts in bi- 
ological science in his "Cycle of Life;" is a rev- 
erent student of Spencer, and in "Evolution the 
Master Key" explains the Spencerian philosophy 
to those who are less familiar with that wonderful 
system, so all-embracing in its researches that few 
have time or knowledge to realize its lasting in- 
fluence. He has also written on "Heredity" and 
the "Laws of Thought;" and with all his wisdom 
as regards the Wonderland just opening to those 
ready to see, is a full believer in the influence of 
the mind over the body, never thinking them one. 
He quotes John Hunter, "one of the acutest ob- 
servers of any age; " " There is not a natural action 
in the body, whether voluntary or involuntary, 
that may not be influenced by the peculiar state 
of the mind at the time." 

Dr. Saleeby thinks worry "the disease of the 
age;" and believes that our being's end and aim 
"is happiness — not necessarily the material hap- 
piness of the inebriate or the epicure, but happi- 
ness of some kind, having its highest form in the 



BOOKS AS I SEE THEM 



2 5i 



spiritual exaltation of those rare souls who in this 
world of shadows and half-lights have seen a vision 
and follow the gleam." 

He says that "to worry is to miss the purpose 
of one's being; it is to fail — to fail for one's self, 
to fail for others, and to fail gratuitously." 

Believing that mind and body are inextricably 
one and yet not identical, he regards worry as 
a mental fact which is to be dealt with by mental, 
not material, means; by dogmas rather than by 
drugs. He calls worry a disease of every age, but 
preeminently of this. " Every access of civilization 
increases the importance of this malady. Print- 
ing must have multiplied it a hundred-fold; cities, 
with their pace and their competition and foul air, 
have done the like — and we are all becoming citi- 
fied if not civilized to-day. I write for those to 
whom the struggle for existence is a stern necessity; 
those who have others dependent upon them; those 
who fear forty and gray hair, and death and con- 
sumption and cancer; and beyond all these, 'the 
dread of something after death.' And this book 
is dedicated to those whom it may serve." 

Abstaining from drink and drugs is constantly 
urged, for from these come misery, suicide, and 
death incalculable. 

He fears he may not be understood. "When one 
dares to mention happiness as the end of life, 
foolish people commonly speak as if one were 
thinking of race-courses or low music-halls, or 
wine, or worse. But the word 'happiness,' as 
used in the Bible and other classics, has no such 
base meaning: 'But and if ye suffer for righteous- 
ness sake happy are ye.' " 

After several pages of description of the healthy 
man, he closes with this: "He has never thought 
about his digestion, and all the information that 
he can afford on that score would amount simply 
to this : that at intervals during the day he depos- 
ited certain pleasant materials in the largest aper- 
ture of his face, but that of their subsequent his- 
tory he has no record whatever. As for his tongue, 
he does not remember ever having seen it." 

He willingly owns the cures that have been 
wrought by faith. "The pile of crutches at 
Lourdes indicates real cures of real diseases. The 
cures of Christian Science are real cures. Neither 
faith nor Mrs. Eddy can remove mountains, or 
kill bacillus, but mind can act on mind." There 
is great benefit from "suggestion" by doctor or 
nurse, and he advises women who wish to keep 
their good looks never to allow worry to draw 
down the lines of the mouth, the "grief muscles," 
for they are indelible. "Of all the ravages that 
can be worked in a fair face there are none against 
which chemistry is more impotent: electricity, 



massage, chin-straps, and depilatories, and the 
like." 

The chapter on "Religious Worry" can be 
thus condensed. 

First, religion is and has been a cause of worry. 

Secondly, most religions show signs of having 
been produced in order to relieve and avert 
worry. 

Thirdly, it is certain beyond certainty that true 
religion is a cure of worry, a preventive of worry, 
and utterly incomparable in its power of perform- 
ing these functions. 

He assures us that the physical pain of death 
itself is a myth, and there is no such thing as 
"death agony." 

The closing chapter is on "The Triumph of 
Religion." 

I feel that this resume is inadequate, but hope 
it may lead some to examine it for themselves, 
and they will be richly rewarded. 

[Frederick Stokes Co., New York, $1.50.] 

"The Psychology of Alcoholism," by Dr. 
George B. Cutten, of Yale, is another impressive 
book which if carefully read and pondered o'er, 
and the illustrations studied seriously, must cer- 
tainly restrain the bibulous tendencies of even a 
moderate drinker. 

He gives the confessions and actual perform- 
ances of reformed debauchees, the remarkable re- 
sults that follow from abrupt and decided changes 
in the life of feeling through religious ideas and 
influences, the weakening effect which liquor has 
upon the memory, the intellect, the will, the emo- 
tions, the senses, morals, and the brain, and the 
relation of insanity to alcoholism, studying all by 
the methods of the trained psychologist. 

Occasionally his words are rather better suited 
to other physiologists and psychologists than to 
plain, e very-day folks who would be pleased to 
understand just what these awful effects really 
are. 

After telling us that the red blood-corpuscles 
are shrunken and annihilated, he says, "In this 
shrunken and irregular state of the red blood- 
corpuscles, with diminished haemoglobin, when 
oxyhemoglobin is reduced in the presence of al- 
cohol, it becomes less capable of reoxygenation. 
In the veins more frequently than in the arteries 
are found aggregations of dying polynuclear leu- 
cocytes, and where peri-vascular spaces are pres- 
ent they contain leucocytes in all stages of dis- 
integration, together with large protoplasmic 
bodies and quantities of detritus finely granular 
in character." 

If haemoglobin forms the solid coloring-matter 
of the red blood, and these are reduced by drink, 



252 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



why is it that the nose and streaked cheeks of a 
drinker are so jolly red ? 

I fly to my dictionary, and after looking at these 
long words feel grateful that the learned doctor 
did not allude to the haemoglobinometer, an in- 
strument for measuring the amount of the afore- 
said haemos. 

Oh, those pictures! On the forty-fifth page he 
gives a "Diagrammatic Representation of Two 
Arteries. First, Normal; Second, Affected by Al- 
coholic Excess." 

The healthful specimen looks like a section of 
the Atlantic Cable, the inner wall showing nuclei 
of pavement epithelium. My dictionary says 
epithelium are the cells that line the alimentary 
canal, or any cavity or tube of the body. 

But the second view is startling. "Lumen 
nearly closed. Intima folded, swollen, and with 
nuclear proliferation in progress. Media irreg- 
ularly swollen, staining lighter, and decrease in 
number of nuclei. Adventitia irregularly swollen, 
and undergoing nuclear proliferation. Leuco- 
cytes. Fatty detritus." 

I shall refuse even ginger-ale after that sight. 
It reminds me of the editor of a country paper 
which bought its patent inside pages. He was re- 
porting a powerful lecture on "Temperance," 
and coming to the bottom of the page said, "For 
the further awful effects of intemperance see our 
insides." 

I feel sure that if these pictures of actual de- 
generation could be widely shown they would 
scare many into abstinence. 

[Scribners, New York, $1.50.] 

As Pope inquired in one of his immortal coup- 
lets: 

"Who shall decide when doctors disagree 
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?" 

Dr. White, a celebrated London physician, 
startled the members of the Medical Congress at 
Exeter, recently, by announcing that gout and kin- 
dred diseases are not affected by diet, high living, 
or wines. And he also denied that cirrhosis of the 
liver is caused by the consumption of liquor. He 
said that teetotalers often died of that trouble, 
and that the autopsy could not distinguish between 
cirrhosis induced by liquor and the other kind. 

But the American physicians say that the Eng- 
lish doctor is certainly wrong. Dr. Colton, of 
Brooklyn, says, "Every physician of experience 
will agree that in gout cases there is a direct con- 
nection between over-indulgence and an explo- 
sion of the affliction." 

I cannot endorse Dr. White's opinion. He says, 
"Eat, drink, and be merry," but I believe the day 



of reckoning and regrets is sure to come. Since 
giving up meat and sweets and rich dainties I am 
entirely relieved of agonizing attacks of that hy- 
phenated horror, rheumatic gout. 

So I train with Dr. Saleeby and Dr. Cutten. 

By the way, did you ever happen to read the 
witty epigram of James Smith on "Gout"? 

"The French have taste in all they do, 
Which we are quite without; 
For Nature, which to them gave gout, 
To us gave only gout." 

So many books of various kinds claim attention 
that I am forced to merely give them honorable 
mention, with a condensed estimate. For two 
really interesting novels, let me recommend 
"Alice-For-Short," by William De Morgan, au- 
thor of "Joseph Vance," that intensely human 
and humorous novel of life near London in the 
'50s, which won universal praise and was so widely 
read. This is equally entertaining and engross- 
ing. Henry Holt and Co., New York, publish 
both. $1.75 for each. Dr. Morgan uses for a sub- 
title a word I cannot find in any of my diction- 
aries. Alice-for-short is a Dichronism. Striking 
and very appropriate, no doubt, but don't expect 
me to explain. 

The other novel I believe in is "The Imperfect 
Gift," by Phyllis Bottome, published by E. P. 
Dutton and Co., New York. 

It is — well, I'm not going to give the plot; that 
is like telling one the day before Christmas what 
you have got for them, and is unfair. But, of 
course every one knows it must have the pranks 
of Cupid for a foundation, and in marriage do 
not all get an "imperfect gift," however flawless 
it may appear while the hypnotic bewitchment of 
passion holds ? — though, after all, a few do se- 
cure a prize package for life. I find this novel re- 
freshingly different from the general slew or slue 
(went again to the "Standard" for the word). 

By the way, did you notice the two causes to 
which Sir James Crichton Browne ascribes the 
phenomena of "first love" ? 

First, a "species of cerebral commotion," and, 
second, the "stirring of some hitherto dormant 
association centres by an appropriate affinitive 
impression." 

"Sex-awaking" would be as true and a good 
deal shorter and simpler. 

The Indian looms up grandly just now with 
the celebration of the Cooperstown Centennial, 
and the tributes in poetry and prose to James 
Fenimore Cooper and his romantic and idealized 
portraits of some of the chieftains and warriors 
of the Six Nations. (If not acquainted with his 



BOOKS AS I SEE THEM 



2 53 



daughter Susan and her "Rural Hours," you will 
thank me for introducing her name.) 

Then you will be fascinated with "Indian Love- 
Letters," by Marah Ellis Ryan, author of "For 
the Soul of Rafael," a romance of Old California, 
in which all the characters are of the fine aristo- 
cratic Spanish type — excepting one American, 
who proved himself a hero. 

The Indian who is supposed to write these love- 
letters was taken unwillingly to Washington, car- 
rying with him "the songs of the old men, and the 
memories of the Arizona desert, and was like a 
young eagle tugging at his chain." 

He says: "The Indian does not want to be 
stared at; admired because he can play a good 
game, and pitied because he is of the great un- 
classed." 

Then he chanced to hear a beautiful girl sing- 
ing one of his Indian songs and all life was changed 
forever for the unfortunate boy. After a brief 
dream of delight, he returned to his old home and 
was again outwardly the same Indian, from the 
moccasin of brown deer-skin to the head-band of 
scarlet; but his heart was hopelessly wounded by 
the fact that there is no place for the Indian save 
in his own surroundings, and that the unseen and 
beloved "Maid of the New Moon" could never 
be forgotten. 

It is pathetic, and though probably no Indian 
lover wrote like these exquisite prose poems, so 
full of intense passion, subdued into a pure and 
hopeless adoration, they will appeal to many read- 
ers, and they grow more touching and beautiful 
as his life ebbs away. 

The letter after he had gone and was laid away 
under the sighing pines, sent by the Indian maiden 
who loved him and hated with her entire nature 
the girl "white in color, with hair like the corn- 
silk," is a little beyond all the others in its savage 
jealousy and strength — a clanging chord of grief 
and loneliness from another broken heart. 

The mystic Swastika is seen at the end of every 
letter. I did not know until lately that this design, 
which I fear I only associated with the stick-pin 
presented by the Ladies' Home Journal to its 
girls' club and which is just now a fashionable, or 
rather a popular, fad as brooch, belt-buckle, or 
hat-pin, has been from earliest times one of the 
great religious symbols of the entire world. And 
"when the 20th-century girl sticks her swastika 
in her shirt-waist, she will be interested to know 
that knees bent before it and eyes were uplifted to 
it in the dawn of the world, when man sought to 
make the sign of that which he worshipped." 

[A. C. McClurg and Co., Chicago.] 

Elaine Goodale Eastman, reviewing a love- 



story of the Dakotas, says: "Indian stories of the 
conventional type are common enough, and their 
intrinsic value is of course less than nothing. But 
if one wishes to be transported to the authentic 
home of an alien people, to think the red man's 
thoughts, to speak his language, to see life as he 
sees it, let him read the books of Franklin Welles 
Calkins. He is, I am tempted to say, the only 
white man of the many who have attempted the 
feat who has fully succeeded in reproducing the 
action, the sentiment, the very atmosphere, of a 
Dakota village." 

Mr. Calkins's "Two Wilderness Voyagers," 
published five years ago, the simple, spontaneous 
tale of two runaway Sioux children, has not, of 
course, the plot, romance, and motive of the second 
book, whose characters are mature men and wom- 
en, but it is perfection in its own way. 

This is "The Wooing of Tokala," and she feels 
that it is so absolutely sincere that the curious 
student of human nature cannot afford to miss it. 

Mrs. Eastman married an Indian of distin- 
guished bearing, fine scholarship, famous as an 
athlete, a graduate of Dartmouth College. In her 
case there were no insuperable barriers, and her 
life has been full of happiness. 

Dartmouth was at first a school for Indians; but 
of the few who studied there almost all reverted to 
the more natural life. 

Mrs. Grace Gallatin Seton, the "Woman Ten- 
derfoot" and "Nimrod's Wife," is a charmer by 
temperament and of dashing courage; she has had 
her full share of hard tramps, dangerous rides, and 
actual face-to-face encounter with wild beasts, 
and the way in which she modestly relates her ad- 
ventures is spirited, offhand, graphic, womanly, 
and delightful. 

I'll not attempt to unravel the variations of her 
wedded name — more confusing than Woodrow 
Wilson and Wilson Woodrow, a verbal somer- 
sault! 

Only this: she married a Seton-Thompson, 
who has now reversed his name and she is Mrs. 
Seton without the Thompson. 

At the left of the copyright is a butterfly with 
the letters G and G, one on each wing, while S 
adorns its body; her dedication is one by itself, 
straight from her heart. 

"to one 

who, without strength, makes slaves of the 

strong; 

who, loving none, is loved by all — 

THE BABY." 

Her tales are well illustrated by her artist- 
husband and Walter King Stone. 



254 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



How strongly she appeals to "the house-ridden 
dwellers in the cities, soul-sick ones, in church, in 
drawing-room, in office, or sweat-shop. 

"Throw off your fetters for a while, your prej- 
udice, your narrow-mindedness, all the petty 
things that make your daily trappings, and take 
a sunbath with me, give your starved soul a chance; 
the road to the outdoors is open to all. Come back 
to the woods; pry open your blind eyes and grow 
as the flowers grow." 

Oh, that all the weakling and ailing, the neu- 
rasthenics and the indigo-bags would heed this 
golden advice and get out of themselves and into 
the open ! What a relief to their friends and a sure 
salvation to them! After an especially eventful 
day, where all was difficult and possible death 
near, how rejoiced she was when her intelligent 
pony "Katy" carried her tired bones to camp in 
tranquillity! 

"Camp! Oh, the sweetness and peace of that 
nook in the mountain meadow, rich with grass for 
the horses, the snow-peaks far above, the right 
breeze blowing, the intimate little brook, fringed 
with willows, gurgling in front of our tent, a grove 
of great pines standing sentinel, and far above, the 
twinkling sky of night." 

There's a poetic word-picture for you, and 
there are lots of such. 

I want to quote the entire desperate plaint of an 
Indian girl who had been taken at five years to 
the white men's school away from her mother: 

"They have taught me to think in their lan- 
guage, but they cannot teach to think their 
thoughts, for I am an Indian, an Absaroka, and 
come from a great people, who would rather walk 
on the great broad earth, that belongs to all, than 
on a carpet, made by one man, owned by another, 
and coveted by a hundred. 

"Ugh! I hate them; I hate their civilization. 

"This is what they would force upon me: their 
man-made clothes, their man-made God. And 
because they are many and my people few, they 
say, 'We are right; do as we do or die,' — and we 
die." 



If any one can even dip into this stirring fresh - 
air book and not long for a little, at least, of her 
enjoyment of the forests, mountains, canoeing, 
riding, and hunting, he is a dead stick, and to be 
pitied. 

[Doubleday, Page and Co., New York, $2.00.] 

Zangwill's new book, "Ghetto Comedies," is a 
great production; "a portrayal of the Jew as a 
factor of Occidental civilizations." Why "Com- 
edies" when almost every story has its tragedy is 
hard to see. 

Dante called his immortal work a Commedia 
because, beginning with the horrible, it ends cheer- 
fully; but it is otherwise here. 

Zangwill himself gives his reason for it, which 
does not enlighten me. But the group of stories 
are wonderful, unforgettable, the work of a genius. 

[Macmillan Co., New York, $1.50.] 

That you may not accuse me of borrowing 
another's thought, I want to ask if you have no- 
ticed that if you hear an unusual word or phrase 
and begin to think about it, some one will be sure 
to use the new word before you or the phrase you 
do not understand. "On the knees of the gods," 
for instance, or "It was not on the knees of the 
Gods." I was sitting by a friend reading when 
each came across that phrase in different books, 
and simultaneously implored information from 
the other. 

I was struggling over De Morgan's use of " dich- 
ronism" in this article yesterday, and to-day I 
opened my precious Saturday Review and found 
that Galbraith had felt as I did, and had written 
to the author to explain it exactly. And this was 
his response: 

" ' Dichronism ' is a made word, intended to 
show that the story runs in two periods together. 
In 'Alice/ two stories of different periods are arbi- 
trarily inlaced. I don't know whether the word 
can stand analysis, — perhaps hardly, — but we 
have 'dichromatic,' where two colors are seen on 
the same surface; so 'dichronic' is natural where 
two times are weft and woof in one story." 



By ELISABETH MERRITT GOSSE 



NOTABLE events of the summer have been 
the many family reunions held in Boston 
and vicinity, to attend which have come from 
nearly every State in the Union the descendants 
of some one original settler. Perhaps the largest 
of these was the annual meeting of the Fairbanks 
family held at the old Fairbanks Homestead in 
Dedham, when more than five hundred descend- 
ants of Jonathan Fairbanks, who came from 
Sowerby, England, in 1636, and settled in Ded- 
ham, gathered for their sixth family reunion. 
The Fairbanks Homestead was built by the found- 
er of the family, and is believed to be the oldest 
specimen of colonial architecture in New England. 
A peculiar feature of the house is that nearly every 
room on the second floor is reached by its own sep- 
arate staircase. The house has been partially re- 
stored, and furnished with interesting family rel- 
ics. Naturally, the most distinguished descendant 
in his generation is Charles Warren Fairbanks, 
Vice-President of the United States, but the fam- 
ily association counts many well-known names 
on its roll of honor. Vice-President Fairbanks, in 
his address, agreed to be one of ten members of 
the family who should each contribute $1,000 
towards the fund for the restoration and preser- 
vation of the homestead, advising the family asso- 
ciation to assume complete ownership of it. Mrs. 
Fairbanks, with members of her family, came 
down from Danvers in an automobile, and was 
entertained at luncheon by Mrs. Laura Went- 
worth Fowler, honorary regent of Old South Chap- 
ter, D. A. R., whose hospitable home, "Daisy 
Farm," a few rods beyond the Fairbanks Home- 
stead, is the Mecca, in summer, of all good and loyal 
Daughters. The house at Daisy Farm, which de- 
serves a whole chapter to itself, is a Fairbanks 
house, too, having been built by a descendant of 
the original Jonathan, about one hundred years 
ago. Mrs. Fowler, a descendant of three colonial 
Governors Wentworth of New Hampshire, pos- 
sesses a stock of colonial furniture, china, and 
silver which make her home most interesting, 
while she herself is such a gracious and hospitable 
chatelaine that few are the Chapters that do not 
plan to spend a long summer day each year at 
Daisy Farm. 



II 



The Balch Family Association met in Beverly, 
numerous descendants of John Balch being pres- 
ent. John Balch was one of the earliest settlers of 
Beverly, and one of that group of sturdy men 
known as the "Old Planters." His homestead, 
built in 1638, still stands in North Beverly, at 
what is now the junction of Cabot and Balch 
Streets. Mayor Dow of Beverly welcomed the 
members of the association, and Dr. Galusha B. 
Balch, of Yonkers, N. Y., historian of the family, 
presided over the gathering. Plans were made for 
the preservation and restoration of the old home- 
stead, and a public memorial was considered. 
Joseph Balch, of Boston, was made chairman of 
the committee appointed. Montana, Michigan, 
Iowa, Illinois, New York, and ' all of the New 
England States were represented in the gathering. 
These officers were appointed: president, Dr. 
Galusha B. Balch, of Yonkers, N. Y.; vice-pres- 
idents, George W. Balch, of Detroit; Major H. H. 
Clay, of Galesburg, 111.; Joseph Balch, John Balch, 
Francis N. Balch, W. H. Balch, and Gardner P. 
Balch, of Boston; Harry R. Coffin, of Brookline; 
and S. F. Stone, of Somerville; secretary-treasurer, 
William Lincoln Balch, of Boston. 

The Chamberlain-Chamberlayne Association 
of America met at the Parker House for its fam- 
ily reunion. Among noted men present were ex- 
Governor Joshua L. Chamberlain of Maine; ex- 
Governor A. C. Chamberlain of Connecticut; Pear- 
son Chamberlain, of New Jersey; John Cham- 
berlain Chase, of New Hampshire; Brig-Gen. 
Samuel C. Chamberlain and Col. William T. 
Harding and Mrs. Harding, of New York. 

Thirty lineal descendants of Dr. Comfort Starr 
met in Plymouth. Among the objects of interest 
inspected was the original deed of Dr. Starr's 
house, now kept in Pilgrim Hall. This is of es- 
pecial interest, as it is witnessed by Capt. Myles 
Standish, and his signature thereon is the only 
one known to be in existence. Dinner was served 
at the Samoset House, and a visit made to Dux- 
bury, where was situated the country home of this 
distinguished ancestor. 

255 



256 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



Daughters of the Revolution of Massachusetts 
have arranged a fine program for the year, under 
the direction of Mrs. Alice M. Granger, of Ran- 
dolph, the newly elected State regent. After keep- 
ing "open house" every day during Boston's Old 
Home Week, at the beautiful blue-and-buff rooms 
which are used as State headquarters in the Colo- 
nial Building, in Boylston Street, — rooms furnished 
and filled with quaint and valuable antiques, and 
family relics donated from time to time by mem- 
bers of the society, — the various Chapters fol- 
lowed their own lines of patriotic work during 
August. On September 3 the anniversary of the 
ratification of the treaty of peace between the 
United States and England, which took place in 
Paris on September 3, 1783, will be observed with 
appropriate exercises and historical addresses by 
the local chapters. On October 5, the regular 
meeting of the State society is to be held, .at the 
Vendome. The exercises, consisting of lecture 
and music, which follow the business session, will 
be under the charge of Mrs. Martha E. Austin, of 
Roxbury, the State librarian. 

As customary with this society, a pilgrimage to 
some historic spot will be made on October 19, 
to mark the anniversary of the surrender of Lord 
Cornwallis at Yorktown. Mrs. Clinton Viles, of 
Brookline, the State vice-regent, will conduct the 
pilgrims, as heretofore; and Mrs. Winifred H. 
Murphy, of Boston, a member of the Board of 
Council, will have charge of the reception and 
"Gentlemen's Night," which is to be held on 
November 8. 

On December 16 an entertainment in commem- 
oration of the famous Boston Tea Party will be 
held at Hotel Vendome, the chairman of the day 
being Mrs. Helen M. Burton, the State historian. 
Another general meeting follows on January 16, 
with Mrs. Florence S. MacAlman, of Somerville, 
a member of the council, in charge of the literary 
and musical program. Mrs. Charles H. Belcher, 
of Randolph, one of the district vice-regents, takes 
charge of the arrangements for a Washington's 



Birthday Party, which is to be celebrated on Feb- 
ruary 22, 1908. The annual meeting and election 
of officers occurs on Evacuation Day, March 17. 
During the past summer, and through this month 
of September, "at-home days" are held for vis- 
iting Daughters at State headquarters, and after- 
noon tea is served on the first Friday of each 
month, from three to five o'clock. The State 
regent is at society headquarters on these after- 
noons. 

A delightful affair of Old Home Week was a 
reception given to the State officers and the so- 
ciety members generally on Wednesday, August 1, 
by Mrs. Micajah Clough, honorary regent of 
Chapter of the Third Plantation, on the grounds 
of her beautiful estate in Ocean Street, Lynn. 
Among the guests of honor was Mrs. Charles 
Warren Fairbanks, wife of the Vice-President of 
the United States, who came over from her sum- 
mer home in Danvers. In the receiving-line with 
Mrs. Clough were Mrs. Fairbanks; Mrs. Gran- 
ger, the State regent; Mrs. Susie M. Plummer 
and Mrs. Horatia Littlefield, regent and vice- 
regent of the Chapter. As Mrs. Fairbanks is a 
former president-general of the National Society, 
Daughters of the American Revolution, her pres- 
ence among the Daughters of the Revolution was 
especially notable, and gave great pleasure. 

In accordance with the prevailing belief held 
by historians that the Mayflower sailed from Hol- 
land on her momentous voyage to New England 
about August 1, the Society of Mayflower De- 
scendants in the Commonwealth of Massachu- 
setts observed Mayflower Day on August 1, hold- 
ing a large reception in their handsome rooms in 
Mt. Vernon Street. 

On August 20 were held the exercises of dedi- 
cation of the Pilgrim Monument at Province- 
town. President Roosevelt came from Oyster Bay 
to be present, and Governor Guild was among the 
speakers. 







ATTLEBORO 



A REMARKABLE STORY OF INDUSTRIAL ACHIEVEMENT 



1 I 


^■,\\ 



T is creditably narrated that 
about the year 1780 a deserter 
from the Continental Army, 
Bedford by name, settled in the 
ancient town of Attleboro and 
established there a small shop for the man- 
ufacture of jewelry, and that this is the 
chance-sown seed out of which has grown 
one of the largest and most successful of 
New England's industries. 

To-day Attleboro jewelry goes to all parts 
of the world. Within a week one of her 
many enterprising firms, the D. F. Briggs 
Company, has shipped a case of twenty 
dozen bracelets to deck the dusky arms of 
the beauties of Singapore. India, Arabia, 
Africa, China, Japan, and the islands of the 
. sea are all open and well-known markets to 
the dainty product of this vigorous Massa- 
chusetts town. 

With still greater pride may her citizens 
point to the fact that this splendid industrial 
victory has been achieved in strict accord- 
ance with the best American ideals. Where - 
ever the Attleboro banner floats, and it is 
well to the front on all the great "battle- 
fields of business," it is a symbol of the 
triumph of the great American idea of open 
competition. No trust-control or secret- 
trade agreements mar the business-methods 
of these great factories. In fact it is difficult 
to imagine a more wholesome condition 
than that which prevails. 

The "help" is well paid, contented, in- 
telligent. The Trade Union idea has gained 
no foothold. The majority of the factory 
owners live in the town, and many of them 
have risen from the bench to the control 
and ownership of great factories where the 
stranger is amazed to see acres of floor-space 
devoted to the construction of all kinds of 
metallic and jewelled ornament. Every- 
where is the clink of gold, and the gems of 
Golconda are handled by the shovelful. 

One Attleboro bank supplies more than 
a million dollars of Uncle Sam's gold coin to 
these factories to be melted down. Bar- 
gold is also used, but most of the factories 



prefer to use coin-gold — a not insignificant 
item for the calculations of the United States 
Mint. 

About the first question that one is in- 
clined to ask in regard to an industrial com- 
munity is not, "Who are its millionaires?" 
but "What is the condition of its toilers?" 

The Attleboro jewelry trade and its allied 
industries employ more than six thousand 
operatives, about half of them young 
women. Many of the latter come from the 
neighboring towns and cities. . Eleven car- 
loads of young women go back and forth 
from the city of Taunton daily. These girls 
are well paid and self-respecting. The 
moral tone of the manufacturing community 
is remarkably clean and wholesome. The 
working-day is ten hours. The wages paid 
average higher than those of textile mills, 
and Attleboro in consequence gets first 
choice. 

Of the working-people resident in Attle- 
boro, a large proportion own their homes. 
Native Americans are still in the majority, 
although there are many Germans, and lat- 
terly large numbers of Swedes, and they are 
working their way to the front. 

There, for example, is the Frank Moss- 
berg factory — Swedish throughout, and 
none the less intensely American. This 
great establishment is one of the few in 
Attleboro not engaged directly in the jewelry 
business. Beginning with the manufacture 
of special machinery for the jewelry-makers, 
Mr. Mossberg has developed a general 
business for the manufacture of high-grade 
special machinery, bicycle sundries, etc., 
whose product is widely and favorably 
known. Practical machinists, it is part of 
their work to take the ideas of inventors and 
reduce them to practical form. 

A typical and remarkable instance of the 
rise of a man by sheer ability and force of 
character from the work-bench to the owner- 
ship of a great factory is that of the present 
head of the S. O. Bigney Company. 

Mr. S. O. Bigney, of Attleboro, is one of 
the largest manufacturing jewellers in the 

257 




S. O. Bigney 



ATTLEBORO 



2 59 



United States. When a young man he 
started out single-handed and alone to 
make his way in the industrial world, and 
by his forceful character and determination 
we find him to-day employing a large force 
of men and women , and the owner of one of 
the largest, if not the largest, jewelry-plants 
in the United States. During all these 
years he has never experienced a strike or 
suffered from any other trouble with his 
employees. The average wages of the 
young women in his 
employ are $2 a 
day, and of the men 
over $3 a day. He 
lives the strenuous 
life and believes in 
justice and fair 
play, for which he 
stands ready to is- 
sue a challenge at 
any time. This is 
the motto which ap- 
pears on his busi- 
ness cards: "Eter- 
nal hustle coupled 
with honesty and 
integrity is the just 
price of success." 

Notwithstanding 
his busy life in con- 
nection with his in- 
dustry, he has given 
much time to politi- 
cal matters. He was 
elected to the Gov- 
ernor's council from 
the second district 
by a very flattering 
vote. He served in 
that body one year, 

and declined a renomination on account of 
the pressing demands of his business. 

He has been to Washington many times 
in the interests of our New England indus- 
tries. He was elected a delegate to the Na- 
tional Convention which nominated Theo- 
dore Roosevelt, of whom he is a great ad- 
mirer. His friends throughout the State in- 
sist that he shall be one of the four dele- 
gates-at-large to attend the next National 
Convention. 

A lineal descendant of Merle d'Aubigne 
(corrupted to Bigney), the good old Hugue- 
not stock of his paternal side and the sturdy 
Scotch ancestry of his mother have corn- 




Frank Mossberg 



bined to produce a type of man who is es- 
sentially a builder and leader. 

Among the industries arising out of the 
jewelry manufacture is that of designing and 
die-making, and prominent among those 
who are engaged in this work is the firm of 
Sworbel and Heath, who made the design 
and the dies for the first coinage of Cuba, 
and whose ideas are stamped on many of 
the most artistic products of the jeweller's 
art. One is tempted to dwell too long on 
these interesting 
bits of industrial 
history, for each of 
these factories has 
its own story of 
strenuous effort and 
victorious achieve- 
ment, its failures, 
losses, and notable 
successes. 

For it is by no 
means true that 
when the visitor has 
seen one of these" 
factories he has 
seen all. Particu- 
larly the stranger in 
Attleboro should 
inquire for the 
great factory of the 
D. F. Briggs Com- 
pany, for years a 
well-known name 
throughout the jew- 
welry trade of the 
world. The busi- 
ness is now owned 
by C. H. and W. 
C. Tappen, who 
have also purchased 
right to use the D. 
The export trade of 
large. Making 



the very valuable 
F. Briggs name, 
this firm is exceedingly 
a specialty of chains, bracelets, and rings, 
they send them in fabulous quantities 
to every corner of the globe. In addition 
to its bar-gold, silver, and other metals, the 
factory melts down an average of $1,500 of 
coin-gold daily. This coin-gold is largely 
used for its convenience of form for certain 
manufacturing purposes, and the ease and 
exactness with which the value in use may 
be instantly computed. It is one of the fine 
things about the business that it has this 
tendency, because of the material employed, 




u 



ATTLEBORO 



261 




^ 



A celebrated North Attleboro concern 



to develop minute accuracy and honesty. 
And it is this reliability of Attleboro jewelry 
and jewellers — the fact that it is always 
just what it claims to be — that has given 
to such firms as the D. F. Briggs Company 
their world-wide market. 

Another firm which has passed the quar- 
ter-century mark is the R. B. Macdonald 
Company, who are the makers of many 
popular specialties, the most widely known 
of which is the "Little Beatrice" locket, a 
dainty little ornament that finds its own way 
straight to the feminine heart. This firm 
also does an extensive business in sterling 
silver novelties, brooches, and scarf-pins. 
Situated on County Street, with commodi- 
ous quarters in a fine new factory building, 
they bid fair to fulfil another quarter cen- 
tury of successful history. 

The discovery and development of a pop- 
Jar specialty is the dream of the manu- 
facturing jeweller, and those who have ac- 
complished it are, with ordinary business 
ability, sure of success. Thus the Mason 
Howard & Company firm, also a County 
Street establishment, have invented and 
made a place in the market for the "Velvet 
Bracelet," a very successful novelty. The 
firm is not among the old business houses 



of Attleboro, having been established in 
1898, but their interesting line of novelties 
has made a place for them well to the 
front. 

As one reviews this story of business en- 
terprise and feels the keen atmosphere of 
trade, the question arises as to Attleboro's 
part in the greater problems of State and 
nation. Is this pursuit of commercial su- 
premacy so engrossing as to leave no room 
for patriotism, for altruistic devotion to the 
public interest? 

The question is one that foreigners are 
prone to answer in the affirmative, not only 
for Attleboro, but for all America, and it is 
one of the deepest interest to all Americans. 

Attleboro's answer is clear and clean-cut. 
It is an old town, well past its second cen- 
tury, and has seen all the great movements 
of American history — and in them all its 
own part has been both unusually large and 
highly honorable. In the days of the minute- 
men Attleboro was able to organize two 
companies of these devoted soldiers, and 
many a quota of staunch supporters of the 
Colonial cause besides. Veteran manufac- 
turers like Mr. C. O. Sweet, of the C. O. 
Sweet & Son Company, long with the 
Bigney factory, and now at the head of a 



262 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Washington Street, North Attleboro 



flourishing establishment, have seen the 
shops emptied of hands at Lincoln's stirring 
call in the days of the great war for the 
Union. 

Nor has interest in letters and the learned 
professions languished through the press of 
trade. Attleboro has furnished college 
presidents to Yale University, Rhode Island, 
Union and Columbia Colleges, and has sent 
forth men distinguished in the pulpit, at 
the bar, and in the sciences. Samuel Robin- 
son, the distinguished geologist, Benjamin 
West, the mathematician, Dr. Naphtali 
Daggett, president of Yale College, Hon. 
David Daggett, chief justice of Connecticut, 
Rev. James Maxcy, president of Columbia 
College, and Nathan Smith, of the Harvard 
Medical College, are a few of her distin- 
guished sons. 

Another common mistake is to identify 
Attleboro with the cheap jewelry trade. It 
is true that the Attleboro factories* turn out 
great quantities of low-priced jewelry, but 
of excellent quality. They also manufacture 
the very highest grades in many lines. 

Such concerns as the W. E. Richards & 
Company firm are devoted exclusively to the 
manufacture of solid gold jewelry. A young 
concern, entering on their ninth year, they 



are already well known throughout the 
country. Mr. Raymond M. Horton, one of 
Attleboro's own young men, is at the head 
of the business, which employs fifty skilled 
workers in gold, and uses the most advanced 
mechanical appliances. 

Our visit to Attleboro must also include a 
call on the C. A. Marsh & Company's in- 
teresting establishment. Here system and 
organization are carried to the very highest 
degree of perfection. Nothing is too minute 
to escape attention, and each detail is an 
object of careful study. The secrets of suc- 
cess may be learned by clear object-lessons, 
as one is conducted from office to factory, 
and from bench to bench, of this justly re- 
spected firm. 

Between Attleboro and North Attleboro 
there is a good-natured and keen rivalry 
that is well in keeping with the spirit of 
competition that pervades the Attleboro 
atmosphere. 

North Attleboro, four miles distant from 
Attleboro, is, historically, the older com- 
munity of the two by half a century, and 
was for many years the leading centre. 
Many of the largest and finest jewelry fac- 
tories are located in North Attleboro. Some 
of these are models of factory construction, 



ATTLEBORO 



263 




The Woodcock Garrison 



and with their acres of well-ordered and 
even artistic buildings are a source of con- 
tinued amazement to the visitor; for it 
seems as though there were no end of them, 
and all devoted to the manufacture of tiny 
trinkets. Among the young and vigorous 
concerns of North Attleboro is the Main- 
teint Brothers and Elliot Company, occupy- 
ing quarters in a fine, new brick factory 
building and looked upon by their neighbors 
as one of the most active and enterprising of 
the North Attleboro concerns. 

Then there is the great Draper factory, 
known as the " Estate of O. M. Draper Com- 
pany," manufacturers of the world-cele- 
brated O. M. Draper chains. These chains 
are the result of nearly fifty years of careful 
specialization, and they have stood the test 
of time. None but the most high-priced, 
skilled labor is employed. No process known 
to the chain-maker for hardening the gold 
is overlooked. Finish is one of the points 
strongly insisted on, and half a century of 
honorable business dealing has given to 



this firm the confidence of the trade. With 
a reputation for square dealing and honest 
values, this splendid monument to business 
capacity and integrity is a just source of 
pride to the citizens not only of Attleboro but 
of all New England. Founded by Mr. O. M. 
Draper, the pioneer vest-chain manufac- 
turer of Attleboro, its history has been one 
of steady growth on solid merit. 

In this sketch of Attleboro 's industrial 
growth we have made no attempt to cover 
the field in detail. It will be sufficient for 
our purpose if we have mentioned that 
which is most typical — and if we have left 
an impression of wholesome conditions, 
prosperity justly achieved, contented crafts- 
men, and business leaders of integrity and 
the true American spirit, we will have told 
our story. 

Attleboro is a bright spot in the industrial 
life of New England to-day, and her achieve- 
ments, hardly paralleled, may well be a 
source of pride to every New Englander 
and every true American. 




A Frontier Town, and Other Essays. 

Henry Cabot Lodge. 

This collection of essays and lectures are es- 
pecially valuable, coming as they do from the pen 
of one so well fitted by his political career to write 
intelligently upon such subjects as : "Good Cit- 
izenship," "The Senate of the United States," 
"History," "Samuel Adams," "Theodore Roose- 
velt," "Senator Hoar," "American History," 
"Certain Principles of Town Government," 
"Franklin," "The United States at Algeciras." 

The first of the series, "A Frontier Town," is 
an address which Mr. Lodge delivered at Green- 
field, Massachusetts, June 9, 1903, on the one 
hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the incorpo- 
ration of the town, and is a most interesting and 
entertaining story of the history of that place. 
(Charles Scribner's Sons, New York.) 



ard and familiar selec- 
tions, new material in 
poetry, and oratory 
that has never before 
ppeared in books of 
this sort. The selec- 
tions are arranged in 
s i x different classes, 

covering a wide range of thought and emotion. 
Each piece of the nearly two hundred chosen is 
of a high grade from a literary standpoint, and has 
been proved successful and popular for public en- 
tertainment. (Ginn & Co., Boston. Price, $1.25.) 



Literary Rambles in the West of England. 

By Arthur L. Salmon. 

This book is an attempt at the literary topog- 
raphy of the West of England. The author takes 
the reader to Cornwall with Borrow, to Teign- 
mouth with Keats, to the Quantocks with Words- 
worth, to Clevedon with Coleridge and Tenny- 
son, to Dean Prior with Herrick, to Morwenstow 
with Hawker. He tries to interpret the message 
which Richard Jeffries gave to the world from his 
Wiltshire home, follows the ramblings of Celtic 
saints about the West Country, touches the liter- 
ary associations of old Bristol, and dreams of 
King Arthur at Tintagel. (Chatto & Windus, 
London. Price, six shillings, net.) 



Priscilla of the Doll-Shop. By Nina Rhodes. 

Such pretty little books, both outside and in, are 
these of the "Brick House Series," as they are 
called, from their well-known cover-designs, and 
are eagerly sought by children all over the country. 

There are three good stories in this volume, 
"Priscilla of the Doll-Shop," "Lulu's Penance," 
and "When Eva Was Seven," told in excellent 
taste and with complete naturalness. (Lothrop, 
Lee & Shepard, Boston. Price, $1.00.) 



Standard Selections. Arranged and Edited by 
Robert I. Fulton, Dean in the School of Oratory 
in the Ohio Wesleyan University, Thomas C. 
Trueblood, Professor of Elocution and Oratory 
in the University of Michigan, and Edwin P. 
Trueblood, Professor of Elocution and Oratory 
in Earlham College. 

A collection and adaptation of superior produc- 
tions from the best authors for use in the class- 
room and on the platform. The main purpose of 
this book is to provide, in addition to many stand- 

264 



The Life and Letters of Charles Russell 

Lowell. By Edward W. Emerson. 

This is a most fascinating story of the varied ex- 
periences of Charles Russell Lowell, who was a 
scholar, mechanic, railroad treasurer, iron-mas- 
ter, and cavalry commander. 

Every word of the story of Lowell's life is inter- 
esting and of an unusually high literary order, and 
the copies of his own letters give a better insight 
into his life and character than anything else could 
possibly do. 

The book is illustrated mainly by portraits, and 
there is a war map. (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
Boston. Price, $2.00, net.) 



Raymond Benson at Krampton. By Clarence 

B. Burleigh. 

This is a story of two live boys at a preparatory 
school, with a glimpse at the inner workings of 
the various societies, and is as full of fun and ex- 
citement as any boy could wish. (Lothrop, Lee & 
Shepard Co., Boston. Price, $1.25.) 




His Excellency, Rollin O. Woodruff, Governor of Connecticut 



New England Magazine 



Vol. XXXVII 



NOVEMBER, 1907 



Number 3 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH 
NEW ENGLAND? 



CONNECTICUT 



V 



THE STATE RULED BY ITS UNINHABITED 
COUNTRY TOWNS 



By FRANK PUTNAM 




ONNECTICUT illus- 
trates the tendency of 
capital, centralized in pri- 
vate control, to assume 
control also of govern- 
ment. In its story this 
tendency is the most 
boticeable feature. The dominant factors 
mere in politics as in business are the Con- 
solidated Railway (the New York, New 
Haven & Hartford and its constituent steam 
and trolley lines), the big insurance com- 
panies, the banks and trust companies, and 
he larger of the manufacturing companies. 
Control of these corporations rests in a very 
Imall number of hands, and their political 
Influence, as compared with the political 
Influence of an equal number of citizens en- 
gaged, say, in farming or in working for 
Ivages, is grotesquely disproportionate. The 
Ipeory of the equality of men, or even of their 
ight to an equality of opportunity, in either 
msiness or politics, has been made to the 
ist degree ridiculous in Connecticut. It 
3 here painfully plain that he who either 
pherits or acquires control of large indus- 
trial or financial power possesses with it, 
jnd incidental to it, a more than pro- 



m 



governmental 



af- 



portionate leverage 
fairs. 

The manufacturers, the bankers, the in- 
surance magnates, the railroad-managers, — 
these and other like groups of the controllers 
of large amounts of capital have long since 
been organized in associations. They have 
met and discussed their common interests. 
They have agreed upon concerted action 
along general lines and have acquired the 
habit of pulling together for what will bene- 
fit their group. Thus we had the spectacle 
of the bankers, or a very considerable major- 
ity of them, moving in phalanx, at the 1907 
session of the Connecticut Legislature, to 
defeat a bill that was drawn to provide for 
genuine instead of merely formal examina- 
tions of Connecticut banks by agents of the 
State. Thus we saw the manufacturers 
plumping their influence against a proposed 
eight-hour law for laborers in the State's 
employ, or who may be employed by con- 
tractors on State works. The manufac- 
turers rightly deemed it dangerous, from 
their point of view, to permit the State to 
create any such precedent. 

We saw the railroads, now nearly all 
merged under one ownership and control, 

267 



268 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




United States Senator Morgan G. Bulkeley, of Hartford 



casting their dominant influence . against 
Governor Woodruff's honest and reasonable 
effort to insure honesty in the financing of 
new trolley-lines. The Legislature, under 
the pressure of this domination, repeatedly 
chartered new trolley companies, over the 
Governor's veto, without closing the doors 
against over-capitalization, as he advised. 
The philosophy of the railroad is that a 
trolley-line is a traffic-feeder; that, once 



built, it will carry passengers; that if inrf 
cent investors in its watered stock lose th<f 
savings — as they very often do — thf 
alone are to blame. The new ideal conce[, 
tion of the government as the inevitat 
regulator of rates, prices, and capitalizati' 
gains ground slowly in Connecticut. \ 
saw all these groups, and their most pow< u 
ful public journals, like the Hartford Cc 
rant for example, moved to angry alarm whl 






WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 269 




United States Senator Frank Brandagee, of New London 



the Connecticut Senate proposed to refer to 
the vote of all the people a $6,000,000 bond 
issue for certain public improvements. Very 
dangerous precedent is that, too — danger- 
ftlous to allow the Connecticut people to get 

ent;1 jthe idea that they have a right to any direct 
al " voice in the spending of their own money. 
They must be content with the old system. 
Anything new, however well tested in other 

^t States and however meritorious the tests 

tarn 



may have proved it, must be regarded with 
grave suspicion in Connecticut. The State's 
chief pride, politically, is in its inability to 
move forward. The senators were roundly 
lectured by able journals. They were in- 
formed that they had brought shame upon 
themselves. They had almost disgraced the 
State! Luckily, they were told, the House 
of Representatives could be relied upon to 
defend the old order. The House was not 



270 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




John Winthrop, Governor of Connecticut for 

seventeen years, 1657-58 and 1659-76. 

From a painting 

cowardly. It knew its prerogatives and 
would maintain them. The House, in this 
hour of peril, was the palladium of a people's 
liberties. (It looked to me as if the House 
were the palladium of special privileges, but 
probably I had the wrong viewpoint.) Any- 
how, the House magnificently vindicated the 
hallowed Past, shook its fist in the face of 
the Present and the Future, and the Senate, 
acting more or less like a lot of whipped 
schoolboys, receded from its iniquitous at- 
tempt to give Connecticut a taste of genuine 
democracy. 

The fact of the Senate having made the at- 
tempt at all is illuminative of the new trend 
of political ideas throughout the world — es- 
pecially significant in view of the fact that 
the Senate is composed of twenty-seven Re- 
publicans and only eight Democrats. 

Few of the senators who voted for the 
referendum could have told why they did 
so. There was nothing in their political ex- 
perience to account for it. The fact is, they 
were unconsciously hypnotized by the Spirit 
of the Age; were moved forward without 
their own volition ; they were doing a sort of 



President Raymond, of Wesleyan University 
Middletown 



political sleep-walk. It w r as in the right 
direction, but when they heard the voice of 
their master they woke up and dutifully 
came back into the fold. There was some- 
thing both funny and pathetic in it all; for 
the Connecticut Senate is a superior body 
of men, time and place considered — not a 
leaderless mob, like the House. You could 
sit in the House gallery and see the puppets 
dance when the strings were pulled by the 
lobbyists outside the chamber. That was 
pathetic, too; but it w r as not funny. 

Some Forward Steps in Legislation 

We saw some concessions, limited and 
grudging, made to the demands of the in- 
articulate majority. Private banks were 
brought under State supervision. The first 
woman factory inspector in the State's his- 
tory was provided for — after the Legisla- 
ture had turned down the usual proposition 
to make women voters. The ironclad mon- 
opoly assured to the Telephone Trust by 
legislative enactment was modified, a little. 
A competing company can now be organ- 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 271 




Senator Flavel S. Luther, President of Trinity 
College, Hartford 

ized without going before the Legislature 
for a special charter. But it must represent 
a genuine public demand for competition, 
and must satisfy certain public officers to 
this effect, before it can do business. An act 
providing for the abolition of toll-bridges 
was passed. The State is to pay the owners 
for their property. The Corrupt Practices 
act was strengthened. The C our ant ques- 
tions, whether cynically or humorously I 
can only guess, if "the full force of this legis- 
lation is understood by those who passed it." 

The Nominal and the Actual State 
Governments 

Connecticut is governed, technically, by 
the legislative representatives of her (almost) 
uninhabited country towns. These repre- 
sentatives are governed, actually, and 
through them of course the State, by the 
legislative agents of the gentlemen to whom 
we have just alluded. The chief factor in 
this secondary, or actual, government of 
Connecticut is the Consolidated Railroad. 
The lightest word of Mr. Mellen, president 
of the Consolidated, carries more weight in 



Philip Maret, the retired merchant, of Boston, 

whose legacy was the beginning of 

the movement for New Haven's 

first free public library 

the Connecticut Capitol than a dozen special 
messages of Governor Woodruff — or of 
any other Governor who might be chosen 
under existing conditions. 

It might not be correct to describe Mr. 
Mellen as a benevolent despot. He is, how- 
ever, as shrewdly respectful of the appear- 
ance of popular sovereignty as any man can 
be who holds his autocratic authority over a 
State's government. It is not in human 
nature for any man long to exercise auto- 
cratic authority without to some extent ac- 
quiring the autocratic manner. 

The prescribed government of Connecti- 
cut comprises a governor, a lieutenant-gov- 
ernor, a secretary, a treasurer, a comptroller, 
an attorney-general, a militia, and numer- 
ous boards and commissions in its Executive 
Department; supreme, superior, district, 
city, borough, and town courts in its Judicial 
Department; and a Senate and a House of 
Representatives in its Legislative Depart- 
ment. The Senate, of thirty-five members, 
represents an attempt -to apportion legisla- 
tive representation on a basis of population. 



272 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




Birthplace of John Brown, near Winsted, Conn. 



The lower house represents Connecticut's 
political inertia. To be more specific: the 
lower house includes 255 members. Each 
town, however small its population, has one 
representative. Towns and cities with more 
than five thousand inhabitants are entitled 
to two members — no more, however much 
their population may exceed five thousand. 
Towns that at any time in the past had two 
members have them still, however much 
their population may have declined. For 
example, the town of Ashford, which had 
1,245 inhabitants in 1756 and only 757 in 
1900, has two representatives, as against 
the two representatives from New Haven, 
with more than 125,000 inhabitants. 

In the most progressive Western States it 
has been found safe and desirable to appor- 
tion representation in both houses of the 
Legislature on a basis of population. 
Several small towns are grouped in an as- 
sembly district, and all their rights in the 
State government seem to be as well pro- 
tected as if each such small town had its 
own representative. But Connecticut will 
have none of this heresy. Connecticut in- 
sists upon the divine right of 757 citizens in 
the town of Ashford to'tie the vote of 125,000 
citizens in New Haven; and the gentlemen 
in control, perceiving in this political dogma 
the easy means of protecting their own spe- 
cial privileges, maintain or retain a highly 
intelligent but satanically sophistical news- 



paper press to foster the mediaeval delu- 
sion. 

The town was the original unit of govern- 
ment in Connecticut. The county, a later 
creation, has a somewhat shadowy individ- 
uality, and is a judicial unit. As one senator 
said to me, "The county commissioners in 
Connecticut have nothing much to do but to 
license the sale of liquor and to punish those 
who sell it. The county commissioners, 
moreover, are not elected by the county, but 
by the State. The legislators of each county 
assemble and nominate the commissioners 
for that county, and the Legislature elects 
them." 

Startling Decline of the Country 
Towns 

The town and the State are the two tan- 
gible political units in Connecticut. During 
the hundred years last past the country 
towns have lost prestige in industrial and 
financial affairs, but have tenaciously held 
their political power. Agriculture, once the 
principal industry of Connecticut, now en- 
lists less than one-third as much capital as 
manufacturing, less than one-half as much 
as transportation. Its annual product is less 
than one-twelfth that of the State's manu- 
factures. Of the 168 towns in Connecticut, 
more than a hundred are small towns; that 
is, more than a hundred towns have less 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 



273 




The old Huguenot House, New London, built in 1650 



than three thousand inhabitants each. More 
than seventy towns have fewer inhabitants 
than they had fifty, a hundred, or even one 
hundred and fifty years ago. I have com- 
piled from a table of comparative statistics 
on population in Connecticut this following 
list of towns that show a considerable loss 
of population since 1870 and earlier dates. 
The list is not complete, but it is representa- 
tive, and emphasizes the inequality of rep- 
resentation in the lower house of the Legis- 
lature : 

Andover, 500 in 1850 — 385 in 1900 
Ashford, 1,245 in 1756 — 757 in 1900 
Barkhampsted, 1,437 in 1800 — 864 in 1900 
Bethany, 1,170 in 1840 — 517 in 1900 
Bethlehem, 1,138 in 1800 — 576 in 1900 
Bolton, 1,452 in 1800 — 457 in 1900 
Bozrah, 934 in 1800 — 799 in 1900 
Bridgewater, 1,048 in i860 — 649 in 1900 
Burlington, 1,467 in 1810 — 1,218 in 1900 
Canaan, 2,037 in 1800 — 820 in 1900 
Canterbury, 2,614 in 1782 — £76 in 1900 
Chaplin, 807 in 1830- — 529 in 1900 
Cheshire, 2,288 in 1800 — 1,989 in 1900 
Colchester, 3,183 in 1800 — 1,991 in 1900 
Colebrook, 1,119 m J 8oo — 684 m I 9°° 
Columbia, 843 in 18 10 — 655 in 1900 
Cornwall, 1,614 in 1800 — 1,175 m I 9°° 
Coventry, 2,021 in 1800 — 1,632 in 1900 



Durham, 1,029 in 1800 — 884 in 1900 
Eastford, 1,127 m x &5° — 5 2 3 m l 9°° 
East Granby, 833 in i860 — 684 in 1900 
Easton, 1,432 in 1850 — 960 in 1900 
Franklin, 1,210 in 1800 — 546 in 1900 
Goshen, 1,493 m 1800 — 835 in 1900 
Granby, 2,735 i n 1800 — 1,299 i n I 9°° 
Hampton, 1,379 in 1800 — 629 in 1900 
Hartland, 1,318 in 1800 — 592 in 1900 
Harwinton, 1,481 in 1800 — 1,213 in 1900 
Hebron, 1,855 in 1756 — 1,016 in 1900 
Kent, 1,617 in 1800 — 1,220 in 1900 
Killingworth, 2,047 m 1800 — 651 in 1900 
Lebanon, 3,652 in 1800 — 1,521 in 1900 
Ledyard, 1,871 in 1840 — 1,236 in 1900 
Lisbon, 1,158 in 1800 — 697 in 1900 
Lyme, 4,380 in 1800 — 750 in 1900 
Madison, 1,809 in 1830 — 1,518 in 1900 
Mansfield, 2,560 in 1800 — 1,827 in 1900 
Marlborough, 720 in 1810 — 322 in 1900 
Middlebury, 847 in 1810 — 736 in 1900 
Middlefield, 1,053 in 1870 — 845 in 1900 
Monroe, 1,522 in 1830 — 1,043 in 1900 
Morris, 769 in i860 — 535 in 1900 
New Fairfield, 1,665 in 1800 — 584 in 1900 
Norfolk, 1,649 in 1800 — 1,614 in 1900 
North Branford, 1,016 in 1840 — 814 in igoo 
North Stonington, 2,524 in 1810 — 1,240 in 1900 
Old Lyme, 1,304 in i860 — 1,180 in 1900 
Oxford, 1,410 in 1800 — 952 in 190c 
Pomfret, 2,566 in 1782 — 1,831 in 1900 
Prospect, 651 in 1830 — 562 in 1900 
Redding, 1,632 in 1800 — 1,426 in 1900 
Roxbury, 1,121 in 1800 — 1,087 m I 9°° 



274 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 







Statue of General Israel Putnam in the Capitol grounds, Hartford 



Salem, 1,053 m 1 ^ >2 ° — 468 in 1900 
Saybrook, 3,363 in 1800 — 1,634 in 1900 
Scotland, 720 in i860 — 471 in 1900 
Sharon, 2,340 in 1800 — 1,982 in 1900 
Sherman, 949 in 1810 — 658 in 1900 
Simsbury, 4,664 in 1782 — 2,094 in 1900 
Southbury, 1,757 * n 1800 — 1,238 in 1900 
Sprague, 3,463 in 1870 — 1,339 m 19°° 
Tolland, 1,638 in 1800 — 1,036 in 1900 
Union, 767 in 1800 — 428 in 1900 
Voluntown, 1,872 in 1790 — 872 in 1900 
Warren, 1,083 in 1800 — 432 in 1900 
Westbrook, 1,182 in 1840 — 884 in 1900 
Weston, 2,680 in 1800 — 840 in 1900 
Wethersfield, 3,992 in 1800 — 2,637 m I 9°° 
Willington, 1,278 in 1800—885 in 1900 
Wilton, 1,728 in 1810 — 1,598 in 1900 
Wolcott, 948 in 1800 — 581 in 1900 
Woodbridge, 2,198 in 1800 — 852 in 1900 
Woodstock, 2,463 in 1800 — 2,095 ^ n 19°° 



Not all of the country towns that are 
dwindling in population are also losing in 
wealth and comfort. The contrary is true 
of some of them. In not a few cases the 
departing small farmers have been replaced 
by people who earn fortunes in the city to 
spend them in the country. They are usu- 
ally leaders in all movements for modern 
social conveniences, as water-works, sewers, 
etc. There is something baronial in this 
new development — the substitution of the 
great estate, with its hired retainers, for the 
older order in which the people were all 
about equal in wealth — or in poverty, as 
the case may have been. When the State 
Agricultural College gets a request from one 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 275 




The Connecticut Capitol, at Hartford, memorial arch on the left 



of these big country show-places for an ex- 
pert worker of some sort, it goes without 
saying that his first qualification must be 
the ability to keep things as neat as a pin. 
He may or may not be a good business man 
as well, and able to make his department of 
the estate earn its' way; that is a secondary 
consideration. His function is not to earn 
money, but to spend it. 

The Rise of the Cities 

Coincident with the decline of the country 
towns the principal cities have risen, in 
wealth and population, sufficiently to insure 
the State a steady growth as a whole. The 
chief cities, in order of population, are: 



These ten cities have considerably more 
than one-half of the population of the State, 
but have only twenty representatives in the 
lower house of the Legislature, as against 
235 representatives from the smaller cities 
and country towns that contain the minority 
of the State's inhabitants. 

Indeed, so marked is the contrast between 
the bustling, thriving cities and the silent, 
wide spaces of the country that a stranger 
in the State, riding up and down its steam 
and trolley lines, and penetrating its re- 
moter regions by team and motor-car, might 
easily receive the impression that the whole 
population, in fear of a foreign foe, had fled 
for refuge to the fortified cities. His obser- 
vation of half a dozen deserted and ruined 



New Haven 5,157 in 

Hartford 5,347 " 

Bridgeport 2,800 " 

Waterbury 5,137 " 

New Britain . . . .3,099 " 

Meriden 1,249 " 

Norwich 3,476 " 

Stamford 4,35 2 " 

Norwalk 5,!46 " 

New London . . . -5,150 " 



1800 


108,027 


in 1900 


125,000 (estimated) in 1907 


1800 


79,850 


" 1900 


105,000 " 


' 1907 


1800 


70,996 


" 1900 


100,000 " 


' i9°7 


1850 


5M39 


" 1900 


70,000 " 


' 1907 


i8so 


28,202 


" 1900 


38,000 ' 


' i9°7 


1810 


28,695 


" 1900 


35>°°° 


' i9°7 


1800 


24,637 


" 1900 


26,000 " 


' 1907 


1800 


18,889 


" 1900 


22,500 " 


' i9°7 


1810 


19,932 


" 1900 


22,000 " 


' 1Q07 


1800 


17,548 


" 1900 


20,000 " 


' 1907 



276 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 






homesteads, and of a tumbledown, window- 
less small factory or two, in a stretch of less 
than a dozen miles of travel along such a 
country road might give him the further im- 
pression that the exodus into the cities had 
taken place a generation or more ago, and 
that the country people had never returned 
to their homes. This, in fact, is precisely 
what did take place, except that the ani- 
mating motive of the exodus was not the fear 
of a foreign foe, but the desire for city life, 
with its regular wages and its various stim- 
ulating contacts with other social beings. 
There was, of course, a large migration of the 
younger men to the free farms of the West 
and to the larger cities of other States. The 
increased population of the cities of Connec- 
ticut is not all, or perhaps even chiefly, to be 
accounted for by the migration from Con- 
necticut farms. In each of the principal 
cities there is a large and increasing propor- 
tion of citizens of foreign birth. The ratio 
of foreign to native is largest, probably, in 
Waterbury, where the foreigners are a de- 
cided majority. 



How Foreigners Are Making Farming 
Pay 

Connecticut has no port of entry for immi- 
grants, but it is so close to New York and 
Boston, that it gains as many recruits 
from the incoming army of foreigners as its 
industries can use. I was- told by a gentle- 
man who should know the facts that thirty 
thousand foreigners took up residence in 
Connecticut in 1906. Most of them, of 
course, were attracted by the employment 
readily obtainable in the factories of the 
cities. But not all. Many Russian Jews 
and Italians are buying the abandoned 
farms. In the town of Colchester, for exam- 
ple, the Baron Hirsch Fund, devoted to 
settling European Jews on American farms, 
has located a thrifty colony. Its members, 
by applying themselves and their children 
to the soil in the fashion of the pioneer 
Yankees, and to some extent also by special- 
izing to meet new needs of the time have 
made farming once more a profitable occu- 
pation. Their number is increasing, and 
they are restoring to the old town its former 
industrial values. Moreover, since they find 
here chances of prosperity that were not 
open to them in Europe, they are not afraid 



to bring children into the world. They are 
fecund. Children old enough to help in the 
labor of the farms are assets, as they were in 
the days of the Yankee pioneers. And the 
Jews have this advantage over the Yankee 
pioneers, — namely, that they find ready to 
hand a free public-school system, of which, 
under the laws of a benevolently paternal 
State government, they must give their chil- 
dren the benefits for a considerable part of 
each year. They have the further advan- 
tage of finding what the first pioneers did 
not find, and that is, a multitude of big city 
markets, hungry for the produce of their 
farms and gardens, which the means of 
rapid transportation of these later days 
enable them to put upon the markets quickly 
and profitably. 

Many of these Jews from the old world 
locate in the cities. Everywhere they are 
hungry for property. They realize, as too 
many people of other stocks do not, that 
property means education, which means 
power. They are all (though they may 
never have heard of it) believers in Bernard 
Shaw's newest dogma; namely, that poverty 
is a disgrace, and the parent of crime. They 
are here as everywhere a strong, energetic, 
and very desirable element of the popula- 
tion. 

The Italians who take up agriculture tend 
to specialize on market-gardens in the 
neighborhood of the larger cities. They, too, 
are hard workers, thrifty, bettering their 
own condition and adding to the general 
wealth . In Waterbury and other city centres 
there has been a large recent influx of Lith- 
uanians and other Austrians. They fit 
quickly and well into the countless, varied 
manufactures of the State and are in a way 
rapidly to become as good citizens as any; 
a trifle too ready with the knife, which police 
officials deplore, but philosophical observers 
of their development are content: they do 
not expect new-comers to abandon all their 
racial characteristics in a day. French- 
Canadians are numerous in the cotton- 
milling centres. They are less inclined than 
formerly to shove their small children into 
the mills. Contact with a new social order 
has awakened in them more desire that their 
boys and girls shall obtain education. Many 
of them have gone on to join the property- 
holding class, in trade or manufacturing on 
their own account. These by their example 
lead the others forward. 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 277 




In the Square, at Waterbury, Hotel Elton on the left 



Too Many Children in the Mills 

Connecticut is still neglectful of her 
poorer children to some extent. There were 
about 3,500 children between fourteen and 
sixteen working in mills and factories in 
1900; about 4,300 in 1905; and nearer 5,500 
to-day are so employed. The State's benev- 
olent paternalism has not yet reached down 
to these little ones. But the tendency is in 
that direction, and surely in time all under 
sixteen years of age will be turned from the 
factories to the public schools. The State's 
stake in the child is worth more — very 
much more — than the child's earnings be- 
tween the ages of fourteen and sixteen. 

Everywhere that I have been in New 
England I have been assured that the chief 
cause of child labor in the factories was the 
eagerness of the foreign-born parents to get 
wage-help from their children. It seemed 
reasonable that these new-comers, most of 
them poor, would be more likely than native 
Americans to send their children to work 
rather than to school. But in Connecticut 
for the first time I have found official statis- 
tics on prosecutions of parents under the 



child-labor law, and I find that most of the 
offenders are American natives. The report 
is for the school year of 1 903-1 904. There 
were forty- three Americans prosecuted, 
eleven Irish, nine French, eight Italians, and 
six Russian Jews. Not all of these prosecu- 
tions were based upon the employment of 
children who should have been in school, 
but the figures seem to show the falsity of 
the common saying that the foreigners are 
less willing than the natives to give their 
children an education. 

Blending the Races into an American 
Type 

More light on the part that the foreign 
portion of Connecticut's population is taking 
in the life of the State is given in the latest 
annual report of the State Board of Health. 
Its figures are for the year 1905. In that 
year there were 23,271 births. Of these, 
8,328 were of American stock and 14,591 
were in families where one or both parents 
were of foreign birth. There were 8,075 
marriages. In 4,023 both parties were 
American; in 2,771 both parties were foreign ; 



278 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




The Connecticut Agricultural College, at Storrs 



in 689 the husband was foreign, the wife 
American; and in 589 the wife was foreign, 
the husband American. Excepting . Nor- 
walk, each of the chief ten cities reported a 
larger number of children born of foreign 
than of native parents. The figures for the 
ten cities follow: 



Both parents Both parents Mother 
City foreign American foreign 

Hartford ... .91 1 676 

New Britain . 649 272 

New Haven 1,647 999 

Mericlen . . . .358 197 

Waterbury ..912 473 

New London .215 181 

Norwich 285 180 

Bridgeport . 1,247 608 

Norwalk . . . .134 2co 

Stamford .... 170 167 



162 

64 
190 

56 

112 

29 

47 
101 



3 2 



Father 
foreign 

72 
180 

72 
143 

45 

53 
J 54 

26 

39 



Three counties — Hartford, New Haven, 
and Fairfield — the counties containing the 
large manufacturing cities — show a very 
large preponderance of children born of 
foreign parents; while the five counties 
which may be described as chiefly rural 
show a slight majority of children born of 
native parents. In the State as a whole the 
births in families where the mother was 



native, the father foreign, were 1,727, as 
against 1,537 m families where the father is 
native, the mother foreign. Another evi- 
dence of the fusion of racial elements into 
an American type — possibly a new one, 
but still an American type — is the total of 
810 births in families where both parents 
were foreign but of different nationalities. 
As the new-comers to the State are chiefly 
from foreign countries, and from Latin and 
Slavic peoples, the typical American in Con- 
necticut half a dozen generations hence will 
be a very different individual from the typ- 
ical American of a century ago, or even of 
this day. The commoner names will re- 
main about the same as now, for the reason 
that very many of the foreigners drop their 
consonantal European names and become 
Smiths, Browns, Joneses, and Robinsons. 
I met one sturdy chap who nad discarded 
a name ending with "insky" and adopted 
Putnam in its stead. As far as I am con- 
cerned he is quite welcome to it; I have no 
doubt he and his descendants will wear it 
with credit. The typical Connecticut man 
of the future, take him by and large, prom- 
ises to be as good an American as any that 



WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 279 



have gone before him 
trious, and patriotic. 



intelligent, indus- 



Eleven Per Cent on the Manufacturing 
Investment 

Connecticut's chief gainful occupations 
are manufacturing, transportation, insur- 
ance, wholesale and retail trade, and farm- 
ing. The United States census returns for 
1905 report that there was in that year a 
total investment in 
Connecticut's man- 
ufactures of $373,- 
283,580, employing 
raw materials cost- 
ing $191,301,881, 
and placing on the 
markets a total prod- 
uct worth $369,082,- 
091. These indus- 
tries gave work to 
13,523 salaried offi- 
cials and clerks and 
to 1 81 ,605 wage- 
earners. The total of 
salaries was $17,- 
040,351; of wages, 
$87,942,628. The 
sum of the salaries 
and wages and the 
cost of the raw ma- 
terials was $296,- 
284,860. Add to 
this the $32,325,002 
reported for miscel- 
laneous expenses, 
and the total, rep- 
resenting the cost 
of the finished prod- 
ucts, was $328,609,- 
862. Deduct this 
from the value of 

the finished products and there remains a 
profit, in round numbers, of nearly forty 
and one-half million dollars, or about 
eleven per cent on the total invested capi- 
tal. This fact chiefly explains the State's 
gain in population and in wealth; it is 
the magnet that attracts to Connecticut 
in a single year thirty thousand foreign 
workmen; it explains, too, the exodus from 
the farms of the State, which in 1900, accord- 
ing to the Connecticut State Register and 
Manual, employed 44,796 hands, including 
proprietors; had a capital investment of 




$113,305,580; and yielded a total product 
worth only $28,276,948. In a word, the 
salaries and wages paid by Connecticut 
manufacturers in a single year exceeded the 
total capital investment in the State's farm 
industry. 

Connecticut, like Rhode Island, produces 
little of the raw materials that are used in 
her factories. She has comparatively little 
water-power, and must ship in the coal that 
makes her steam-power. She has but one 
deep harbor, and 
that one, at New 
London, is practi- 
cally unused. The 
bulk of her freight 
is hauled over the 
lines of a single 
railroad. The only 
steam road in the 
State not controlled 
by the Consolidated 
is the New London 
Northern, under 
lease to the Ver- 
mont Central, which 
is in turn under 
lease to the Grand 
Trunk road of Can- 
ada. The Grand 
Trunk thus keeps 
its grip on the best 
of the Connecticut 
harbors, but makes 
very little use of it. 



President Rufus W. Stimson, of Connecticut 

Agricultural College, Harvard, A.B. 

'95, Yale, B.D. '97 



A Loss in Indi- 
vidual Initiative 
and Its Causes 



Connecticut 's 
high rank in manu- 
facturing is due 
most of all to the ingenuity of her me- 
chanics and inventors, and to the business 
wisdom and daring of her capitalists. 
With the rapid substitution of foreign for 
native workmen in the mills and factories, 
it is said that the State produces fewer in- 
ventors than of old. This seems to be true 
of all the manufacturing States, and it is 
doubtful if the changed character of the 
workmen fully explains it. Very likely the 
centralization of industries in large groups 
is partly responsible for the apparent decline 
of America's inventive powers. Where 



2»0 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



practically all of the output of any given 
kind of goods is produced in the factories 
of a single great corporation, there is not 
the same inducement to adopt new devices 
that there was when the business was scat- 
tered among scores or hundreds of smaller 
plants, and when the first to adopt a new 
device might hope to gain a decided advan- 
tage over its competitors. It is pretty sure 
that the centralization of industries under 
single great corporations, however it may 
have cheapened production and enlarged 
output, has also tended to stifle individual 
initiative and to reduce workmen to a me- 
chanical dead level far more than the labor 
unions have done. Despite the drift toward 
centralization, the number of manufacturing 
establishments increased nearly three per 
cent between 1900 and 1905. This increase 
was in the cities; the rural districts showed 
a loss of four and one-half per cent. 



Ask for It, and Connecticut Can 
Supply It 

It is the boast of Connecticut that her 
factories produce everything, from a rifled 
cannon to a pin ; from a twist of silk thread 
to a ship's anchor-chain and the anchor that 
goes with it. Ask for almost anything made 
by the hand of man, and Connecticut can 
supply it, from a felt hat to a piano-player. 
In short, Connecticut is. a huge department- 
store of manufacturing. Waterbury is the 
capital of the brass industry of the United 
States. With all the natural conditions 
against it, this city has made gains only 
second to those of Bridgeport as a manufac- 
turing-centre. Waterbury has no water- 
power to speak of ; no coal or metals except 
what she brings in from long distances; no 
native supply of labor; she has to do all her 
shipping over a single-track branch line 
railroad; yet her rise has been as rapid as 
that of the most favorably situated cities 
elsewhere. Waterbury's brass works con- 
sume raw material worth over thirteen 
millions annually, and turn out a product 
worth nearly twenty millions — almost one- 
third as much as the total of all manufac- 
tures in Vermont. The New Haven road is 
now laying a second track into Waterbury 
and is preparing to replace the miserable 
shack that now serves the city as a railway- 
station with a new structure to cost $190,000. 



The double track will facilitate shipments 
and relieve Waterbury's manufacturers of 
one of their most vexatious problems. On 
a Sunday in midsummer there were a hun- 
dred freight-trains sidetracked there waiting 
to be handled. The railroad company that 
seeks and acquires a practical monopoly of 
the commercial highways of the State has 
failed to keep pace with the demands of this 
city. 

Bridgeport, an Open-Shop City 

Bridgeport leads all other Connecticut 
cities in manufacturing. Her total invest- 
ment is above fifty millions ; wages and sal- 
aries, above twelve millions annually; and 
her yearly output is worth above forty-five 
millions. Bridgeport claims to have a wider 
range of manufacturing than any other city 
in America. She has no one dominant in- 
dustry, hence she has no fear of dull times. 
The quiet season in one line is the lively 
season in another; her workpeople are thus 
steadily employed, and become to a large 
extent home-owners. I was told that there 
is not in all Bridgeport a single closed shop 
— not one in which union men only are em- 
ployed. There are doubtless some excep- 
tions, but this is certainly the rule. It is said 
that as a result strikes are few. Bridgeport 
has one of the finest passenger-stations on 
the line of the New Haven road, and two 
large and convenient freight depots. The 
New Haven operates every steamship that 
sails from a Connecticut port. Bridgeport 
has eighteen feet of water and ships enor- 
mous quantities of her manufactured prod- 
ucts to New York by sea. Bridgeport man- 
ufacturers are favored in the matter of 
freight rates, being given the New York 
rates on shipments South and West. 

The practical bent of the Bridgeport mind 
is indicated in the public statues of Elias 
Howe, the inventor of the sewing-machine, 
and of P. T. Barnum, the first great Amer- 
ican showman, which adorn her public 
squares. 

New Haven enjoys a double fame, — in 
the intellectual world, as the seat of Yale 
University; in the workaday world, as the 
seat of half a thousand factories whose prod- 
ucts carry her name around the world. First 
in population, she is second in manufac- 
tures, with a total annual output exceeding 
forty million dollars in value. 



282 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



The Beautiful Capital City 

Hartford, the capital city, monopolizes, 
almost, the insurance business of the State. 
Her fire and life companies — the /Etna, 
the Connecticut Mutual, the Travelers', and 
nearly a dozen more — have assets totaling 
nearly $290,000,000, with total surpluses of 
more than $34,000,000. These companies 
bring into the State every year a golden tide 
of profits, larger in volume on a smaller in- 
vested capital than any other business of the 
State. Much of this money flows back into 
other States for investment in real-estate, 
stocks and bonds, and mortgages; but a 
large part of it goes into the channels of 
business in Connecticut, a refreshing and 
inspiring infusion, in no small degree ac- 
countable for the vigor of Connecticut's man- 
ufacturing-enterprises. Connecticut's insur- 
ance companies appear to have been man- 
aged more conservatively than the great 
New York companies, so that the recent 
flurry of investigation and exposure in the 
Empire State did not affect them. 

Hartford is in my opinion the best-groomed 
city in the State. She has an air of solidity 
and wealth somewhat like that of Portland, 
in Maine, but is larger and richer than Port- 
land. Her factory district is the neatest and 
most modern in arrangement that I have 
seen anywhere. 

The splendid Capitol, in its magnificent 
setting of green, fronted. by a ribbon of flow- 
ing water, is a gem of architecture and land- 
scape. From its seat on a hill overlooking 
the central section of the city it affords a 
view of wide range and almost unbroken 
loveliness. Also, its upper story is an 
amazing fire-trap — a tinder-box. The 
Legislature this year appropriated money to 
fireproof this part of the structure. The 
Capitol and its grounds are adorned with 
many memorials — all of them interesting, 
many of them genuinely beautiful. The 
Memorial Arch at the main gate to the Cap- 
itol grounds is nobly proportioned. Advanc- 
ing up the pathway to the north entrance, 
one encounters General Israel Putnam in 
bronze, standing guard with drawn sword. 
One wonders what "Old Put" would think 
of the State's present-day government if he 
could come back and take a look at it. 
Doubtless he would feel like leaving his plow 
in the furrow and going to the front a second 
time. In the main corridor is an inspiring 



statue of Nathan Hale, idol of patriotic 
schoolboys, the young soldier of the Revo- 
lution who in the shadow of death regretted 
that he had but one life to give for his coun- 
try. Here, too, is a medallion of Fitch, who 
made the steamboat "go" several years 
earlier than Fulton's experiments on the 
Hudson, but who somehow failed to keep 
it going, and so lost the immortality of re- 
nown that the world has awarded the later 
inventor. There are other statues in the cor- 
ridor and on the grounds, but their originals 
did not penetrate the world's consciousness 
very deeply. 

The State's Most Precious Treasure 

The Connecticut State Library, located 
on the second floor of the Capitol, is the re- 
pository of the State's most precious treas- 
ure, the original charter granted to the Con- 
necticut Colony by King Charles II. in 
1662. Mr. Godard, the State Librarian, 
opened the massive steel doors of the great 
safe in which the charter is suspended on a 
roll, and with justifiable pride — the pride 
of the native son mingled with the deeper 
veneration of the antiquarian — displayed 
the gem of the collection confided to his care. 
While we sat chatting, groups of little chil- 
dren came in and gazed with wide eyes at 
the great parchment, adorned with a por- 
trait of the king, and proclaiming the funda- 
mental law which was the sole written con- 
stitution of Connecticut for a century and a 
half. Not until 18 18 did the State formulate 
and adopt a constitution to succeed the 
royal charter. It was, in the words of the 
historian Alexander Johnston, the most 
"democratic charter ever given by a king." 
At any rate it met the needs of the State for 
many years after Connecticut became a 
member of the American Union. Mr. God- 
ard is collecting early papers, letters, and 
other documents bearing on the colonial 
history of Connecticut, and is following the 
example of the State Librarian of Wiscon- 
sin in making the library especially valuable 
as a depositary of materials treating of 
State governments. Under the guidance of 
the State Library an effort is being made to 
obtain better protection for the records of 
the towns, to repair them where damaged, 
and to make new copies where the originals 
are beyond repair. Most of the official rec- 
ords of Connecticut, other than those kept 



foil 

- 

H 
K: 

ion] 
tit 

1 - 




The '„' Lake " submarine boat, a Bridgeport product 



>y the State, are in the custody of the towns. 
)ften they are stowed away in small safes 
»r desks in farmhouses or stores, subject to 
onstant hazard of loss by fire. 
The State Library will soon have a home 
f its own, a new building for which the 
egislature this year appropriated a million 
ollars. 



Connecticut's Liberal Provision 
Education 



for 



Connecticut is second only to Massachu- 
tts among the New England States in a 
beral provision for public education. The 
tate's three normal schools graduate about 

tit 50 teachers yearly, one half the number 
eeded to supply the vacancies that occur, 
nd in this particular there is apparent need 
f more liberal provision. But there appears 
3 be no good reason why any child in the 

] e l tate, if determined to obtain an education, 
lould not do so. True, many of the schools 
1 the country towns are very primitive, and 

(dj! ave not the same grade of teachers that 
le cities can command with their more 
beral salaries; yet these schools serve as 



well as they have served in the past as an 
introduction to a system in which the dis- 
tricts, the towns, and the State join to assist 
the student at every step to and through the 
high school. 

The Connecticut Agricultural College at 
Storrs offers two, four, and six-year courses 
free of charge to all children born in the 
State. This school receives students direct 
from the rural district schools, from the 
high schools, and from the colleges, supply- 
ing to each what he lacks in the funda- 
mentals of a sound scheme of education, 
and offering to all special training in the 
many branches of field and farm work, in- 
cluding forestry. Storrs, the seat of the 
State College, is seven miles from Willi- 
mantic. The college occupies a large farm, 
with a variety of soils admirably adapted to 
the wide range of experimental farming 
conducted there. Governor Woodruff wished 
the Legislature this year to order the college 
removed to a more central location on or 
near a railroad line, but his desire was de- 
nied. It seems to be a part of the dominant 
impulse of the time to move everything into 
town, even the agricultural colleges. This 



284 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



one appears to be suitably situated. It is 
certainly in competent hands and doing good 
work. 



A College for Women in Prospect 

Connecticut has no college for women 
alone. President Raymond of Wesleyan 
University is about to retire from office. 
Upon his successor will devolve the labor of 
creating a separate college for women, as an 
annex to Wesleyan. Coeducation at Wes- 
leyan, thanks to the Teddy-bearish attitude 
of a majority (or perhaps only a noisy 
minority) of the male students toward the 
female students, is about to be abandoned. 
It is to be written down that young men who 
cannot appreciate the inspiring influence of 
co-eds do not deserve to enjoy it. On the 
whole, with the increasing dominance of the 
football course over the merely cultural 
courses in American colleges, it is regret- 
fully to be admitted that coeducation is 
steadily losing favor in the West as well as 
in the East. 

Trinity College, nominally Episcopalian, 
is situated in Hartford. Its president is 
State Senator Flavel S. Luther. Trinity 
breaks the bread of knowledge for two hun- 
dred young men. These three schools, with 
Yale, are the seats of the higher education 
in Connecticut. Below them are seventy- 
eight high schools and several private acad- 
emies of high-school grade. 

Evening schools are conducted in An- 
sonia, Bridgeport, Danbury, Hartford, 
Manchester, Meriden, New Britain, New 
Haven, New London, Norwalk, Norwich, 
Stamford, Wallingford, and Waterbury, the 
manufacturing-centres, where boys and 
girls ■ — and adults as well — can educate 
themselves while earning their bread by 
daily labor. If perchance there be an Abra- 
ham Lincoln among these young men, he 
will not be put to the necessity of studying 
by the light of a pine knot; comfortable 
schoolrooms and competent teachers are 
provided to supply his needs. The whole 
number of pupils in attendance at these 
evening schools in the school year of 1903- 
1904, the last period for which figures are 
available, was 5,950, and only four of them 
were less than fourteen years old. If that is 
not an inspiring fact, where shall we find 
one? 



The State to Assist Trade Schools 

There are manual training departments 
in the high schools in a few of the larger 
cities, but thus far Connecticut has no trade 
schools. This deficiency is in a way to be 
remedied. The Legislature of 1907 appro- 
priated $50,000 for this work. Senator 
Luther, who has been called the father of 
the trade-school movement in Connecticut, 
says: 

"I have been much interested in the mat- 
ter for a good while, and have filled the at- 
mosphere of the State with talk on the sub- 
ject for the last ten years, so that I suspect 
the action of the Legislature was dictated 
partly by a desire to shunt me off on some- 
thing else. As the bill finally passed it pro- 
vides that any town or district may by vote 
(the referendum) establish a trade school, 
and that the State will assist two such schools 
to the extent of $50,000 a year in the aggre- 
gate. I should have been glad to see a larger 
appropriation, and the bill has been modi- 
fied somewhat since I drew it up; but it 
definitely commits the State to the policy of 
public instruction in trades, and that is, as I 
regard it, the crucial point. If the schools 
are successful there will be no difficulty in 
getting further appropriations. 

"The actual history of the bill is as fol- 
lows. In 1903, by vote of the Legislature, the 
Governor appointed a commission to look 
into the matter of trade schools, and to re- 
port. They presented their report late in 
the session of 1905, and the matter was car- 
ried over to its present session. At this 
session I found myself a member, and in a 
position to urge the matter. The result is 
what I have described. 

"The labor unions were undoubtedly op- 
posed to the whole project, but the opposi- 
tion weakened all through the session. It 
seemed to burn absolutely out, and the bill? 
finally passed practically without a dis-j 
senting vote. Educators have been pretty 
generally in favor of it. The last opposition 
to overcome, and that which I feared most 
just at the end, originated among certain 
manufacturers of very conservative tend- 
encies. I find myself quite unable to un- 
derstand their attitude, and, anyway, it 
seems thus far to have done no particular 
harm." 

Connecticut has a permanent school fund 
of $2,023,527, which yields an annual in- 



WHAT 'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 285 




ii 



Central buildings of Trinity College, Hartford, Conn. 



come of about $1 10,000. The State and the 
towns annually spend about three and one- 
half millions for public education. 

Trial by Jury Granted at Last 



Having now completed our hasty and 
necessarily superficial survey of Connecti- 
cut's industries and her educational insti- 
tutions, let us return to the capital for a 
final ten-minutes look at those acts of the 
legislative session of this year which most 
clearly prove that the State as a business in- 
stitution is going forward. 

Most conspicuous of these new laws is 
that one which guarantees the right of trial 
by jury. In his message to the Legislature, 
Governor Woodruff bore strongest upon the 
shameful defect in the State's legal system 
under which trial by jury was denied at the 
option of the defendant. The result of this 
old law was, as the Governor set forth, that 
if a person is killed in an accident and a 
I corporation or individual that is held to be 
at fault is sued to recover damages, although 

f$5,ooo is the limit allowed by statute for the 
oss of life, all the corporation or defendant 



:rti: 
ten! 



person need do in order to escape trial by 
jury is to enter a default, and by such de- 
fault to confess the right of the plaintiff to 
nominal damages. The trial before a 
judge," the Governor added, "results in a 
judgment for fifty dollars and costs, the 
judge being satisfied from the evidence that 
the defendant is not responsible. Then why 
award nominal damages and costs, if the 
defendant is not responsible? It looks as 
though a man's life were valued by the 
court at fifty dollars, because that is the 
amount of the judgment entered in the 
cause. But the real decision is in favor of 
the defendant, who is allowed to escape a 
trial before a jury in that way. 

"For many years," said the Governor, 
"our General Assembly has made unsuc- 
cessful efforts to correct this condition so 
that the same right shall be afforded in ac- 
tions of tort that obtains in actions of con- 
tracts. Why this matter has never reached 
a fair settlement is one of the blunders of 
legislation subjecting the State to severest 
criticism. The people want this law made 
right, and they demand to know why it is 
not done. They want to know what influ- 



2 86 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



ence operates upon the law-making author- 
ity that they have elected to represent them, 
with more power than the people's will. In 
whose interest is this law kept upon the 
statute-books? In what a situation are the 
people of Connecticut placed when they are 
compelled to go to Massachusetts, Rhode 
Island, or New York to secure abroad what 
is denied them at home — the right of trial 
by jury!" 

No Mystery about It 

You will of course understand that the 
Governor's inquiry concerning the " influ- 
ence" that kept the old law upon the books 
was Pickwickian. He knew, and every 
member of the Legislature knew, and the 
whole people of the State knew, that that 
infamous law was kept on the books by the 
railroad monopoly, in order that it might 
not be forced to pay more than fifty dollars 
apiece for the victims of its rolling wheels. 
The fact of the railroad monopoly permit- 
ting the Legislature to wipe out the old law 
at this year's session proves that it feared an 
upheaval which might imperil its more im- 
portant special privileges. 

Hereafter Connecticut will be found in 
line with the other States of the American 
Union in respect to trial by jury. For his 
part in bringing about this reform Governor 
Woodruff may well consider his term of 
omce well spent, however many of his other 
suggestions were turned down contemp- 
tuously by a Legislature that obviously had 
more regard for its corporate masters than 
for the will of the people as a whole. 

Millions for Public Roads 

The next most important enactment of 
the session of 1907 was the appropriation of 
$4,500,000 for the extension and mainte- 
nance of public roads under the supervision 
of the State Highway Commissioner. The 
commissioner is authorized to expend 
$750,000 a year. This money goes into 
trunk lines, roads connecting the towns. 
Hitherto the maintenance of these roads has 
been left to the towns. Under the new law 
the State assumes control. 

Under the old highway law, the town 
paid the whole cost of road-making and the 
State later sent the town a contribution for 
its share. Under the new law, the State 



makes the first payment covering the whole 
cost, and later receives the town's portion. 
Under the new law also the State's share of 
the expense is larger ; the town's, smaller. 
The State will pay seven-eighths of the cost 
of the new road work where the town's total 
property valuation is $1,250,000 or less; 
three-fourths if the town has a higher valu- 
ation. Initiative for new work must be 
taken by the town. The State will then 
decide whether the work asked for is needed. 
The town is of course free to do as much 
road work as it likes wholly at its own ex- 
pense; the State's fund will be spent only 
where the State highway commissioner be- 
lieves it will serve the general good. This 
is an uncommon grant of personal power in 
a work involving so much money, but Con- 
necticut has in Commissioner MacDonald 
an uncommon man. He is a road-builder, 
not a grafter. The State has given him large 
authority, and with it goes heavy responsi- 
bility. 

Connecticut is traversed by thousands of 
automobiles other than those owned within 
the State. Motor-cars have created a new 
and puzzling problem for road-builders. 
They tear up macadam, gravel, and the 
other road-surfaces now in use on rural high- 
ways, undoing in short order the costly 
work of the highway-makers. Commissioner 
MacDonald is one of the foremost masters 
of his craft, and with the ample funds placed 
at his disposal by the State he may succeed 
in finding or creating some road-surface, 
short of wrought iron, that will stand the 
wear and tear of the automobile. Primarily, 
his department will continue working, as it 
has worked in the past, to provide good 
roads for the dwellers in the country, in 
order that they may bring the produce of 
their farms to market at the least cost. 

While we are on this subject of roads, it is 
worth remarking that trolley-building has 
gone forward at a great rate in Connecticut 
of late years. Wherever the State and the 
town build a level road-bed linking commu- 
nities, the trolley-builders are quick to take 
advantage of it. The Consolidated, the 
steam-railroad monopoly, has absorbed all 
the trolley-lines. Its most recent mouthful, 
the water-logged Connecticut Railway and 
Lighting Company, included the city light- 
ing plants at Waterbury and some other 
places, so that the Consolidated is now not 
only a hauler of goods and passengers and a 



WHAT 'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 



287 



manipulator of legislation, 
dealer in electric light. 



but 



also 



The Railroad-Insurance Alliance 

Of the alliance between the big insurance 
companies and the railroad monopoly it is 
necessary to say only that the Connecticut 
insurance companies own six and one-half 
millions of the stocks and bonds of the Con- 
solidated and its constituent companies, 
and that the president of the iEtna Life In- 
surance Company, Morgan G. Bulkeley, is 
a Senator of the United States from Connec- 
ticut, by grace of the Consolidated. Every 
dollar of the railroad's stocks and bonds 
that the insurance companies have bought 
is worth more to-day than they paid for it: 
they have not put their policy-holders funds 
in jeopardy by purchasing it. Their owner- 
ship of it, however, affords a valid business 
reason for their supporting the rule of the 
railroad in State politics, to the end that its 
taxes may not be made burdensome, nor its 
profitable special privileges curtailed. 

While upon this subject of railroad taxes, 
let us hear the story of Senator Stiles Jud- 
son's attempt to get light at the last session 
of the Legislature. Senator Judson offered 
a resolution for the appointment of a com- 
missioner by the Governor to investigate 
the subject of the taxes imposed by law 
against public-service corporations and to 
ascertain whether such taxes had been in 
fact paid, and to report to the next General 
Assembly thereon. This resolution was 
chiefly based upon the following considera- 
tions. The Connecticut statutes require 
that each railroad company shall pay to the 
State taxes at the rate of one per cent upon 
the valuation (as corrected by the Board of 
Equalization) of its capital stock and upon 
its funded and floating indebtedness (or the 
market value of such indebtedness if below 
par), deducting therefrom: 

1st. Any bonds or obligations held by 
the corporation in trust as a sinking-fund. 

2d. Any local taxes paid upon real estate 
not used for railroad purposes. 

3d. Evidences of indebtedness issued for 
the purpose of acquiring the stock, bonds, 
•etc., of another railroad company wholly or 
in part within the State, provided that such 
•other railroad company continues to include 
such stocks, bonds, etc., in its annual re- 
turn for taxation. 



The resolution cited the returns of the 
Consolidated Railway for the year last past 
(now known as the Connecticut Company, 
and being the holding company of all the 
trolley-roads owned by the N. Y., N. H. 
& H. R. R. Co.). Senator Judson pointed 
out that its capital stock was $10,000,000 
and its bonds and floating indebtedness 
$32,000,000; that its bonds had been made 
a savings-bank investment, with the moral 
guarantee of the State behind them; that 
one per cent upon such capital stock and 
indebtedness would produce $420,000 ; that 
it in fact paid about $155,000; that its real- 
estate holdings subject to local taxation were 
worth but a nominal sum. He argued that 
the burden was upon the corporation to 
show that the wide difference between 
$420,000 and $155,000 was legitimately pro- 
duced by the issue of bonds for the other 
two purposes. The same wide difference is 
indicated by the returns by the Connecticut 
Railway and Lighting Company now held 
by the Consolidated Company on lease. 

It became known the day before Senator 
Judson offered the resolution that it was to 
be offered, and as a result the corridors of 
the Capitol were crowded with the legislative 
agents of the New Haven road to stifle the 
inquiry, with the result that there was a 
" line-up" of senators favorable to the rail- 
road interests in any emergency, and the in- 
vestigation was voted down, with no defence 
offered for the railroad in the debate upon 
the measure, nor denial of the charge of tax- 
dodging. 

Mr. James M. Sullivan, a young lawyer 
of -New Haven, is reported to have said that 
he inet Lincoln Steffens recently and asked 
him why he did not write on the evils of 
politics in his own State, Connecticut. Mr. 
Steffens is reported to have replied : 

"The conscience of the people has be- 
come so deadened that I could not get any 
results." 

I do not think that badly of any State. 
The people are patient, some of them are 
dishonest, but in the long run the silent 
pressure of honest public opinion gets ex- 
pressed in progressive legislation. For a 
State so deeply sunk in political slavery as 
Connecticut, the enactment of a law pro- 
viding for trial by jury is a good year's 
work. All that Connecticut needs to do is to 
exert in her political affairs the first-rate 
ability that she displays in her industrial 



WHAT 'S THE MATTER WITH CONNECTICUT? 



affairs. In order to do this she must modern- 
ize and simplify her governmental machin- 
ery, in accord with the spirit of the age, pre- 
cisely as she has modernized and simplified 
her industrial machinery. 

How to Get Administrative 
Efficiency 
A governing commission of five members 
should be substituted for the Legislature 
and the host of special commissions now 
managing, or at least now drawing pay for 
managing, divers items of the State's work. 
Five men, chosen by the whole State, in 
session the year through, could get a prac- 
tical working knowledge of the State's busi- 
ness. The Legislature of 290 members is 
too large. It falls over its own feet, like all 
other Legislatures. Nine tenths of the mem- 
bers come up to the State-house strangers 
to each other and to the work before them. 
Each may have special knowledge of some 
one item among the hundreds of bills that 
will be offered for consideration during a ses- 
sion; but on nearly everything else the mem- 
bers must necessarily vote in the dark — 
taking somebody's word on the merits of the 
pending legislation. In this way good meas- 
ures often fail, because they have no paid 
missionaries to root for them ; bad measures 
go through, because wealthy special interests 
I supply plenty of skilled and sympathetic 
advocates. Two hundred and eighty men 
will pass bad laws that five men would n't 
dare pass : it is much easier to carry one two- 
hundred-and-eightieth part of a disgrace 
than one-fifth of it. Let the commission 
formulate, for the State's biennial elections, 
a program of legislative propositions to be 
voted on by the citizens direct. Connecticut 
would then have a government of the major- 
ity guided and advised by the capable, and 
that is as nearly ideal as human ingenuity 
has yet suggested. Government by Com- 
mission has strong advocates in Connecti- 
cut. Senator Luther is one of them. 

A Prosperous, Able, and Cynical Press 

The press of Connecticut is prosperous 
and able, as a rule, but it neglects some 
I plain duties to the people it serves. It is far 
too strongly influenced by the overshadow- 
ing industrial and political monopoly; a 
shrewd, genially-humorous press, in the 
main, but cynical withal, lacking faith in 



man's best ideals, lacking faith in funda- 
mental democracy, conceding, by silence, 
the right of the minority to govern the ma- 
jority. Most singular and astonishing of all 
the omitted duties of the press of Connecti- 
cut is its failure to denounce the system of 
petty graft operated by the reporters at the 
legislative sessions. For many years it has 
been the strange and degrading custom, 
usually of the Senate, sometimes of the 
House, to vote gratuities of $300 each to the 
newspaper representatives who report the 
sessions of the Connecticut Legislature. At 
the session of 1907 the Senate voted away 
$3,000 of the people's money in this way. 

It has been the custom of the reporters, or 
a majority of them, to canvass the members 
at the beginning of the session. "Are you 
for or against gratuities ? " they asked. The 
member was uncommonly dull who could 
not discern in that query, put at that time, a 
veiled threat as well as a servile plea. If he 
announced himself as opposed to gratuities 
he might reasonably expect to have his part 
in the proceedings distorted, or at least un- 
fairly minimized. 

Some of the papers, among them the 
Hartford Courant and the Waterbury 
American, have not permitted their reporters 
to accept this bribe-money. It is a small 
matter in the amount involved, but it illus- 
trates the force of Mr. Steffens's remark 
about the deadening of Connecticut's con- 
science, that many of her best newspaper 
reporters could become so lost to self-respect 
as to solicit blackmail, or, if the milder term 
be preferred, alms, from the public treasury. 
For be it known that no other class of work- 
men on earth has a higher general average 
of honesty and loyalty to the duty in hand 
than the newspaper reporters. They are the 
eyes and ears of the public in public places 
and to their everlasting credit they have as a 
rule proved faithful to the trust reposed in 
them. The first qualification of the good 
reporter is a certain instinctive perception 
of and reverence for truth and justice. When 
the graft in any State capitol becomes so all- 
pervasive that the reporters consent to 
share in it, unrebuked by their editorial 
chiefs, the limit has been reached. 

Beginnings of a Forestry System 

Connecticut is one of the few States that 
have recognized, however tardily and inad- 



290 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



equately, the vital need of the sowing of new 
forest crops. Mr. Austin F. Hawes, the 
State Forester, gives me this following out- 
line of the work in Connecticut: 

" The work which this State is doing is 
being carried on by the Agricultural Experi- 
ment Station, and is largely of an educa- 
tional sort, giving free advice to all land- 
owners in the State regarding better forest 
management, etc. We have also instituted 
the custom of furnishing seedlings to land- 
owners at the lowest possible cost, to be used 
for forestry purposes only. A year ago one 
hundred thousand white-pine seedlings were 
so disposed of,, and this year about four 
hundred thousand, showing a marked in- 
crease in interest. These seedlings were 
furnished at $3.85 per thousand. 

"In order to give better information on 
forestry matters, and as examples of forestry 
for land-owners, we have an experimental 
plantation on some of the worst sand plains 
of Windsor, and the State also has two 
tracts purchased as a nucleus for larger 
forest reserves. One of these consists of 
eleven hundred acres of sprout-land in 
Portland, purchased at an average cost of 
$1.75 per acre; and the other, of three hun- 
dred acres of run-out farm land in Union, 
purchased at an average of $3 . 5 7 . The work 
on these State tracts is attracting the atten- 
tion of land-owners in the region, and it is 
hoped that the Legislature will in time fur- 
nish the money for purchasing larger forest 
tracts in different parts of the State. 

"We also have a system of fire protection, 
inaugurated during the last two years by the 
appointment of town fire-wardens by the 
selectmen of the various towns, with the ap- 
proval of the State Forester. In this way we 
hope to do away with forest fires, and have 
already made considerable progress, so that 
there is an increased feeling of security. " 

Of the total area of the State, about 
3,000,000 acres, one half is non-productive 
agriculturally. Mr. Hawes says that one 
third of this non-productive half could be 
made to yield an annual income of seven 
million dollars if devoted to forest products. 



There are so few private individuals who 
can afford to wait for the maturing of a forest 
crop that the use of the non-productive agri- 
cultural land in this way will always be 
limited until the State takes up the work. 



City Sewage Pollutes the Rivers and 
Harbors 

The cities of Connecticut all empty their 
sewage into rivers and bays. They are not 
quite as reckless as the people of Bangor, in 
Maine, who take their water-supply from 
the Penobscot River at a point just below a 
huge riverside cemetery, but they are suffi- 
ciently belated in this respect. Waterbury 
is putting a half million dollars into a plant 
for the treatment of her sewage, but none of 
the other large cities of the State is doing 
anything to stop the pollution of running 
waters in this way. Connecticut could learn 
a valuable lesson in municipal cleanliness, 
and municipal economy, from the German 
cities, or even from Houston in Texas. The 
New England cities' habit of providing, 
great and beautiful parks and public build- 
ings, while neglecting the best devices for 
simple cleanliness in this most vital partic- 
ular, somehow reminds me of the New Eng- 
land woman's description of the prevailing 
type of domestic architecture in Chicago. 
She said it was a combination of the Queen 
Ann front with a Mary Ann back. But of 
course this does not represent any decline 
of the New England instinct for good house- 
keeping: it represents, instead, the New 
England habit of subordinating politics, the 
public business, to private business. 

Government of the cities and of the State 
by boards of experts responsible directly to 
the people would doubtless speedily remedy 
the chief defects of government in Connec- 
ticut. But it is probably idle to discuss any- 
thing so simple, so modern, and so effective 
in connection with Connecticut. A State 
that has only just got trial by jury will not 
be ready for government by commission 
for another two hundred years. 



THE TALE OF THE LOST ISLAND 



By BEATRICE GRIMSHAW 




Y Jove, it's a white man!" 
said Saxon, checking like a 
pointer on the threshold of the 
low dark doorway. 

"Certainly. Very pleased 
to meet you," observed the figure on the 
mats. It was sitting cross-legged, clad only 
in a waist-cloth, and the house was a Fijian 
chief-house in a mountain village, three days 
journey from the nearest white settlement; 
but the thing squatted on the mats was un- 
doubtedly white, and — English ? Well, 
no; Saxon thought not. The phrase was 
American in flavor. He stepped across the 
threshold and came a little way in, relieved 
in mind. When you have been dead, and 
buried among the islands, for a quarter of 
a century, it is much pleasanter not to run 
the risk of meeting other ghosts (with uni- 
versity accents, tea-colored families, and a 
preference for modest retirement on steamer 
days) who may possibly have been alive to- 
gether with you, before. . . . 

Before .... The word means much, 
in that vast Pacific world, sepulchre of so 
many lost hopes and forgotten lives. We do 
not, in The Islands, cultivate curiosity as a 
virtue, since it would be likely to bring 
rather more than virtue's own reward after 
it. We do not ask cross-questions, because 
the crooked answers might involve ques- 
tions of another sort. And when overfed, 
sanguineous passengers from smart liners 
happen along, and tell us, as a new and ex- 
cellent joke, that the proper formula for re- 
ceiving an introduction in The Islands is, 
"Glad to meet you, Mr. So-and-so; what 
were you called before?" we smile an acid 
smile and pretend we are amused. . . . 

Saxon was very tired, having walked 
thirty miles that day, and very hungry, be- 
ing out of luck and more or less on the 
tramp. But I think tired as he was, he 
would have found another village to rest in 
if the derelict white on the mats had spoken 
with the shibboleth of his own class and 
country. 

As things were, the look of the house 



pleased him, and he came in and folded 
himself up on the mats. The other man 
noted that he selected a "tabu kaisi" mat 
(a kind strictly forbidden to all but chiefs, 
or whites), and that he looked hopefully 
towards the kava-bowl. 

"Not the first time you've stopped un- 
der a pandanusroof, I guess ? " he remarked. 

"No," said Saxon. "Whose house is 
this?" 

" Mine," said the stranger. " Make your- 
self at home." 

It was a handsome chief-house of the 
best Fijian type, forty feet from mats to 
ridgepole, the walls covered with beauti- 
fully inlaid and interwoven reeds, the roof 
bound together with exquisite sinnet-work, 
in artistic patterns of red, black, and yel- 
low and towering up into a dark, cool cav- 
ern of pleasant gloom. The floor was over- 
laid with fine parquetry of split bamboo at 
the "kaisi" or common-folk end, and piled 
deep with fine mats in the "chief" part. A 
Fijian bed, ten feet wide arfd three feet high, 
ran like a dais right across the end of the 
house. It was covered by mats prettily 
fringed with colored parrot-feathers. There 
were three great doors, east, west, and 
south, each framing in its dark-set opening 
a different picture of surpassing loveliness. 
Nalolo town (its name is on the map of Fiji, 
but reads otherwise) stands very high, on 
the sheer crest of a pointed green hill that 
is just like the enchanted hill in the pictures 
of a fairy-tale. There is a little round green 
lawn on the top, and all about it stand the 
high, pointed, beehive houses of the town, 
each perched on its own tiny mound like 
a toy on a stand. Sloped cocoanut-logs run 
up to the doors of the houses, and quaintly 
colored crotons cluster about them. In the 
deep, soft grass, golden eggs from the guava- 
trees lie tumbled about among fallen stars 
of orange and lemon blossom, and every- 
where the red hibiscus shakes its splendid 
bells in the soft hill-winds. About the foot 
of the peak a wide blue river wanders, sing- 
ing all day long; and from every door of 

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NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



every house, high perched above the cloudy 
valleys and hyacinth hill-ranges, one can 
see pictures and pictures and pictures, al- 
most too lovely to be true. There are not 
two places in the world like Nalolo. 

The White Man of Nalolo, however, was 
only interested in the fact that the river 
provided excellent crayfish, and the taro 
grew very well indeed, on the slopes below 
the town. He had once been young, but 
he was not young now, and did not matter 
any longer. Therefore he had become par- 
ticular about his dinner and indifferent to 
scenery. I will not tell you the story of the 
White Man of Nalolo, or why he, of all 
men, rebelled so fiercely against the com- 
mon lot of "not mattering any more" that 
he came away to the wilds of the Pacific 
and the Highlands of Fiji, and never went 
back again — because, like many true sto- 
ries, it cannot be believed, and therefore 
had better not be told. Besides, this is the 
story of Saxon and his daughter. 

Saxon was down on his luck. He had a 
charter for the Sybil, but she was not able 
to undertake it at present; for, trying to 
pilot her into Suva harbor himself, he had 
contrived to run her on a reef, and damaged 
her so seriously that she was at present ca- 
reened on the beach in front of the local 
boat-builder's undergoing repairs. The 
builder, knowing something of Saxon's 
reputation, had insisted on cash in ad- 
vance, and the captain, in consequence, 
found himself so nearly out of funds that 
he was unable to stay in Suva pending the 
repairs to his ship. He had therefore started 
with Vaiti, his half-caste daughter, for the 
interior of the great island of Vitu Levu, in- 
tending to live on the ready hospitality of 
the natives for a few weeks, and tramp from 
village to village. 

He explained something of this as he sat 
on the mats, enjoying the grateful coolness 
of the house. The other man nodded grave- 
ly, watching the door. He offered a curious 
contrast to the Englishman's coarse red 
fairness, being lean, sun-dried, and griz- 
zled, with expressionless boot-button eyes, 
and a straggling " goatee" beard that dated 
his exile from America back to long-ago 
days. 

"Where's your daughter?" he asked. 

" Coming. She stopped to tidy up at the 
river." 

The doorway was darkened at that mo- 



ment by Vaiti herself, balancing lightly up 
the cocoanut-log to the threshold. She wore 
a white tunic over a scarlet "pareo;" her 
wavy curls, sparkling with the water of the 
stream, fell loose upon her shoulders; her 
lips were as red as the freshly plucked 
pomegranate blossom behind her ear. Some- 
thing like life stirred in the boot-button 
eyes of the White Man of Nalolo as he 
looked at her. 

"An!" he called to a Fijian woman wiio 
was sleeping on the mats at the "kaisi" 
end of the house. " Go and hurry the girls 
with the supper, and make tea for the ma- 
rama (lady). Quick!" 

Then he turned to Saxon. 

"Stay here as long as you like, both of 
you," he said. "Let her sit there some- 
times, where I can see her, and fancy. . . . 
I'll show you something." 

He rose slowly and stiffly, and crawled 
across to a Chinese camphor-wood box that 
stood in the corner. In a minute he re- 
turned with a faded photograph in a gaudy 
frame. 

"My daughter," he said. "The only 
child I ever had. She was Afi's. She died 
a long time ago. Afi's a chief -woman; she 
was as handsome as Andi Thakombau 
when she was young, and the girl took after 
her. Your girl's mother was chief, too, I 
guess. Do you see any likeness?" 

Vaiti and her father craned over the 
photograph. The pretty half-caste girl was 
certainly like the stately, slender creature 
who gazed at her pictured face, though the 
fire and spirit of Vaiti 's expression were 
wanting. 

"I'm growing old," went on the White 
Man. "I've no children. . . . Stay a bit; 
I'll be glad to have you." 

"Thank you; delighted, I'm sure," 
drawled Saxon, with a pathetic resurrec- 
tion of his long-forgotten "grand manner." 
And so it was settled. 

Vaiti, listening and thinking as usual, 
with her chin in her slender fingers, ap- 
proved of what she heard, and smiled very 
pleasantly at her host. It seemed to her that 
he could be very useful just now. 

The four weeks that followed after glided 
away agreeably enough in the silent hills. 
Nothing happened; no one came or went; 
the Fijians, men and women, went out to 
the yam and taro fields in the morning, and 
returned in the afternoon, and after dark 



THE TALE OF THE LOST ISLAND 



293 



there would be long monotonous chanting, 
and interminable sitting dances, on the 
mats inside the high-roofed houses. Saxon 
stupefied himself with kava most of the 
time, in the absence of stronger drink, and 
almost got himself clubbed, once or twice, 
on account of his too-impulsive admiration 
for the beauties of the village. His host, 
however, was no censor of morals, and 
troubled very little about him. On Sun- 
days the Fijians dressed themselves in their 
brightest cottons, stuck up their hair in 
huge halos, and went five times to church, 
under the auspices of the native Wesleyan 
teacher; while Saxon and his host smoked, 
slept, drank kava, and played cards. The 
village provided plenty of yam and taro, 
kumara, cocoanut, and fish; and there was 
tea and sugar in the Chinese box, and now 
and then the White Man killed a pig or a 
fowl. It was very pleasant on the whole. 

In a month's time, however, Saxon girded 
up his loins to leave this mountain Capua, 
and descend to Suva once more. The Sybil 
would be ready, and his charter to convey 
ornamental Fiji woods to San Francisco 
would not wait. 

They said good-by to their host, and 
walked a mile or two across the river-flats 
below the town before either spoke. Then 
Vaiti put her hand into her sash, and drew 
out something small and shining. 

"See, father, what the White Man gave 
me, because I was like his daughter," she 
said. 

Saxon took the object and turned it over 
in his fingers. It was a small seal, shaped 
like an eagle standing on a rock. The 
eagle was gold; the rock, amethyst. 

"A pretty thing, but not worth more than 
two or three pounds," he said. 

Then he turned it over and looked at the 
device. There was a curious crest on the 
face of the seal, — a wolf with a crescent 
moon in his jaws; underneath, a motto in 
a strange foreign character. 

Saxon's red complexion paled as he ex- 
amined the crest. In other days and scenes, 
among icebound rivers and grim mediaeval 
fortress-castles, he had seen that crest light 
up the crimson panes of old armorial win- 
dows; had read the motto underneath — 
"What I have, I hold" — of nights when 
he and the wildest young nobles of the Rus- 
sian court were dining together under the 
splendid roof of one of Moscow's greatest 



banqueting-halls. For a moment he felt 
the keen cold air of the ice-bound streets 
blow sharp on his cheek; heard the jingle 
of the sleigh-bells, drawing up before the 
marble steps where the yellow lamplight 
streamed out across the snow. . . . 

The fancy faded, swift as a passing lan- 
tern-picture that flashes out for a moment 
and then sweeps away into darkness. He 
saw the burning sky and the crackling 
palms again, felt the furnace-heated wind, 
and knew that it was all over long ago, and 
that he was ruined, exiled, and old. Yet 
there remained a thread of indefinite recol- 
lection, a suggestion of something half- 
remembered, that was not all unconnected 
with the present day. . . . What was the 
story belonging to that crest — the story 
that the whole world knew? 

"Where did the fellow get the thing?" 
he asked his daughter. 

Vaiti told him. 

The White Man of Nalolo, it seemed, 
was one of the numerous South Sea wan- 
derers who believe in the existence of vari- 
ous undiscovered islands, hidden here and 
there in the vast untravelled wastes of sea 
that lie off the track of ships. . . . Thirty 
years before, there had been wandering 
rumor of an island of this kind, touched at 
once by a ship that no one could name, 
found to be uninhabited, and never revisited ; 
indeed, no one was sure where it was within 
a few hundred miles. Years went by, and 
the White Man, who had always taken a 
special interest in the story, found himself 
shipwrecked — ■ the sole survivor of a boat- 
ful of castaways — on the very island it- 
self. But fortune was unkind, for the morn- 
ing after his arrival, when he was trying to 
sail round the island, a sudden storm blew 
him out to sea again, and he had drifted 
for many days, and all but perished in spite 
of the fish and nuts he had obtained from 
the island, before a mission schooner hap- 
pened to see him and pick him up. He had 
examined most of the island while ashore, 
and had seen no inhabitants, or traces of 
cultivation. . . . Nevertheless, he had al- 
ways been convinced that there was some- 
thing mysterious about the place, for two 
reasons. One was the presence of common 
house-flies, which he had never seen far 
away from the haunts of human beings. 
The other was the discovery of an amethyst 
seal, lying under a stone on the shore. It 



294 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



was dirty and discolored, but he did not 
think so small and heavy an object could 
have been washed up on the shore from a 
wreck. 

Where mystery is in the air most men's 
minds turn naturally to thoughts of hidden 
treasure, and the White Man of Nalolo had 
ever since cherished a hope that there was 
treasure on the island. For years he had 
fully intended to go and look — some day; 
but as he could only guess at the latitude 
and longitude, and as he had little money 
to spare, he never succeeded either in hunt- 
ing the place up himself, or in persuading 
any one else to do so. Now he was old and 
half-crippled, and did not care any more 
about anything — so he wanted Vaiti, who 
reminded him so much of his dead daugh- 
ter, to have the seal; it was a pretty thing, 
and perhaps it would make her think some- 
times of the poor old White Man of Nalolo. 
. Saxon listened attentively to the story, 
and heaved a sigh of disappointment at the 
end. 

"There's nothing in it, my girl," he said. 
"No proof of treasure there, eh?" 

"No. No treasure," said Vaiti, looking 
at the ground as she walked. 

"What, then?" asked Saxon, curiously. 
He saw she had something in reserve. 

Vaiti suddenly flamed out in eloquent 
Maori : 

"What, then, my father? Am I one who 
sees through men's heads, that I can tell 
what was in the mind of you as you looked 
at the jewel, and turned yellow and green 
like a parrot only to see it? What, then? 
I do not know; I walk in the dark, and the 
light is in your hand, not in mine. As for 
you, you have made your brain dull with 
the brandy and the kava, so that you can- 
not see at all. What, then ? Tell me your- 
self, for I do not know. I know only that 
there is something to be told." 

" Don't be rough on your poor old father," 
said Saxon, pathetically. "I'd have knocked 
the stuffing out of any man who said half as 
much; but I spoil you; by Gad, I do. I 
don't know — I can't think, somehow or 
other; but there was a story about the Vas- 
ilieffs — the Johnnies who had that crest 
— people I used to stay with when I went 
to " 

He broke off, smashed a spider-lily bloom 
with his stick, and began afresh: 

"Junia Vasilieff — what was it she did? 



Big princes they were, and much too close 
to the throne to be safe company. . . . 
Junia Vasili — I have it ! Yes — the end 
of the story was in the Sydney papers, time 
you were a little kid. I remember. They 
were to have married her to the Czarevitch, 
just to make things safe; her claim to the 
throne was big enough to have started a 
revolution any day, if it had been asserted. 
. . . Poor little Junia — only sixteen when 
I knew — when the marriage was talked 
of — and such golden hair as she had ! She 
hated the whole thing ; courts and ceremony 
were n't in her line. But she was a gentle 
little creature, and I never thought she'd 
have had the spirit to do as she did." 

He turned the seal over in his fingers, as 
if reading the past from its glittering surface. 

"There was a young lieutenant of Hus- 
sars — a Pole — you don't know what that 
is, but the Russians don't like them, I can 
tell you — a noble, but a very small one ; 
not fit to black Junia's boots, according to 
their notions. Well, he bolted with her. 
It was in the Sydney papers, time I was in 
the Solomons; the paper came up to Gua- 
dalcanal . . . She must have been twenty 
then ; just the year the marriage to the Czare- 
vitch was to have come off. . . . They 
bolted — cleared out — never seen again. 
All Russia on the boil about it; no one knew 
but what they'd hatch up plots against the 
throne, she having a better claim than any 
one else, if it had n't been for the law against 
Empresses. The secret police were after 
them for years, but they were never traced, 
though most people knew Russia 'd give a 

pretty penny to know where they were 

j? 

"O man with the head of a fruit-bat, do 
you not see?" interrupted Vaiti at this 
juncture. "They hid on that island — they 
may be there still — it is worth a hundred 
treasures!" 

"The Pole was a great traveller, and had 
a sort of a little yacht," said Saxon, thought- 
fully. "It might be true, of course — if 
there is an island — and if the Nalolo John- 
nie had any idea of where it was — and if 
nobody found them out, and split, years 
ago. Plenty of ifs." 

"I think him all-right good enough," 
averred Vaiti, returning to English and 
prose. "By 'n' by we finish F'lisco; then we 
go and see, me and you." 



THE TALE OF THE LOST ISLAND 



295 



Some two or three months later the 
schooner Sybil might have been seen, like a 
white-winged butterfly lost at sea, beating 
up- and down before a solitary, low green 
island lying far east of the lonely Paumotus. 
Vaiti, sitting on the top of the deck-house, 
was examining the land through a glass. 
The native crew were all on deck ; also Har- 
ris and Gray, the mate and boatswain. 
Captain Saxon was not to be seen. 

"The old man always do get squiffy at 
the wrong time, don't he?" commented 
Harris, rather gleefully. 

Gray spat over the rail for reply. 

"You're ratty because you don't know 
nothing, ain't yer?" he said. 

"Do you?" asked the mate, curiously. 
Harris had not much notion of the dignity 
of his office, and dearly loved a gossip at all 
times. 

"More nor you, havin' eyes and ears 
that's of use to me occasionally," replied 
the boatswain, drily. 

Harris considered. 

"I'll give you my gray shirt to tell," he 
said, persuasively. "There's sure to be 
something up." 

"'Ow much does we ever get out of it 
when there is?" said Gray, sourly. "I 
could do with that shirt very well, though. 
There ain't much to tell, except that the 
old man he thought there is an island here- 
abouts not marked on the chart, that no- 
body knew about; and Vaiti she allowed 
that was all rot — because, says she, this 
part's been surveyed, and though the Ad- 
miralty surveys is n't the for-ever-'n'-ever- 
Amendead certainties the little brass-bound 
orficers thinks them, still, they don't leave 
whole islands out on the loose without a 
collar and a name round their necks, so to 
say. 'So,' says she, 'let me work out the 
length of time they ran before the hurri- 
cane,' says she, 'and the d'rection of the 
wind, which the old boy remembered right 
enough,' says she, 'and then look it up on 
the chart, and I'll be blowed,' says she, 'if 
you don't find somethin' for a guide-like.' 
So by and by she looks, and says she, ' 'Ere 's 
somethin', 'ere's a reef, marked P.D. and 
it is P.D.,' says she, 'for you and I knows 
there's nothin' there,' she says. 'But we'll 
look a bit more to the north 'ard,' she says, 
'where it's right off the track of ships, and 
maybe we'll find somethin' and maybe we 
won't,' she says. 'But I think,' she says, 



'that somewheres not too far off from that 
P.D. reef we'll maybe get a sight of what 
we 're lookin' for,' she says. ' Because some- 
times reefs is put down for bigger things 
by mistake,' she says, 'specially if you 
'ave n't been to see.' Then up she comes 
on deck, and I makes myself scarce, for it 
ain't 'ealthy on this ship to listen at no 
cabin skylights, not if she knows you're 
there." 

"Well, whatever the game is, I don't sup- 
pose it'll line our little insides any fatter, 
bo'sun. We don't count on this ship, any- 
thing like as we ought to, when there's 
shares goin'. I wonder that I stick to her, 
I do ! Old man as drunk as a lord half the 
time — me doin' his work as well as my 
own — a blessed she-cat runnin' the 
bloomin' show " 

' ' Ready about ! " sang Vaiti from the deck- 
house ; and the mate and boatswain sprang 
across the deck. There was something 
about the orders of the "she-cat" that en- 
forced a smartness on the Sybil rare on 
board an island schooner, even when heavy- 
fisted Saxon was not about. 

Half an hour later, Vaiti had rowed her- 
self ashore, curtly declining Harris's polite 
offers of assistance, and had landed on the 
beach. As she did not know who she might 
not be going to see, she had provided for 
all emergencies. Her revolver was in her 
pocket, and she wore a flowing sacque of 
lace-trimmed white silk, that made her feel 
as if she was fit to meet any Russian prin- 
cess, if such were indeed in the island. It 
was a gratifying thought that the said prin- 
cess, if she had been a celebrated beauty, 
must now be well into the forties, and con- 
sequently beneath all contempt as a rival 
belle. 

Her father's absence did not trouble her. 
He had a nasty trick of starting a drinking- 
bout just when he was most needed — in 
fact, it was the one point in Saxon's char- 
acter on which you could absolutely rely. 
Vaiti, therefore, had grown used to doing 
without him, and rather liked to have a per- 
fectly free hand. 

She had fully grasped the bearings of the 
case. There was possibly a very great 
chief's daughter from Europe, with a rather 
insignificant chief who had stolen her away, 
living here in hiding. The people of her 
country would pay a great deal to know 
where she was, and bring her back. Or, if 



296 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



there seemed any lack of safety about this 
proceeding (Vaiti had long ago learned that 
her father was not fond of putting himself 
within the reach of principalities and pow- 
ers of any kind), the couple themselves 
must be made to pay for silence. It was all 
very simple. 

The fact that the island was supposed to 
be uninhabited did not trouble her. She 
meant to investigate that matter after her 
own fashion. 

She walked all round it, first of all. It 
took her about an hour. There was a nice 
white sandy beach, with straggling bush 
behind it. There were a good many cocoa- 
nuts, — all young ones, — also a large num- 
ber of broken trunks, apparently snapped 
off by a hurricane. 

This set Vaiti thinking. It seemed to her 
that the damage was rather too universal 
and even to be natural. Yet why should 
any sane human being cut short all his full- 
grown cocoanuts? 

She crossed the island twice at the ends, 
noting everything with a keen and wary 
eye. Fairly good soil; nothing growing on 
it, however, but low scrub and a few berries. 
In the centre of the island the scrub thick- 
ened into dense bush impenetrable without 
an axe. No sign of life anywhere. 

Vaiti stamped her foot. Was it possible 
she had been mistaken? Was this indeed 
just what it seemed, — a commonplace, in- 
fertile, useless little mid-ocean islet, let alone 
because it was worth nothing, and incor- 
rectly described as a reef because no one 
had ever troubled to examine it? Things 
began to look like it. 

And yet . . . she thought — she did not 
quite know what, but she was very sure 
that she did not want to leave the island 
just yet. She would at least climb a tall 
tree, and take a general survey, before she 
gave it up. 

Nothing simpler — but there was no 
such tree. 

All the palms were young, or broken off 
short; all the pandanus-trees were in the 
same condition. There was no rock, no 
commanding height. She could not get a 
view. 

Vaiti's cheek flushed crimson under its 
olive brown. The spark was struck at last! 

Somebody had cut short those trees — to 
prevent any one from climbing up and over- 
looking the island. The encircling reef 



would not allow any ship to approach close 
enough for a lookout at the masthead to 
see over the island, except in a very general 
way. There was something to conceal. 
What, and where? 

Only one answer was possible. The mass 
of apparently virgin bush in the centre of 
the island — several acres in extent — was 
the only spot where a cat could have con- 
cealed itself. The scent was growing hot. 

With sparkling eyes, Vaiti began to circle 
the wood, watching narrowly for the small- 
est trace of a pathway. The branches were 
interlocked and knitted together as only 
tropical bush can be. Many were set with 
huge thorns; all were laced and twined 
with bush ropes and lianas of every kind. 

Nothing larger than a rat could have won 
its way through such a rampart. Vaiti 
walked swiftly on and on, striking the bushes 
now and then with a stick, to make sure 
that there were no loose masses of stuff 
masking a concealed entrance, and keep- 
ing a sharp eye for traces of footsteps. . . . 
It was with a heart-sinking shock that she 
found herself once more beside the low 
white coral rock that had marked the com- 
mencement of her journey, and realized 
that she had been all round, and that there 
was most certainly no opening. 

The sun was slipping down the heavens 
now. She had been exploring half the day; 
but she was not beaten yet. The unexpect- 
ed difficulties she had met with only sharp- 
ened her determination to enter the thicket 
at all costs. Harris, suffering acutely, as 
usual, from suppressed curiosity, was nearly 
driven mad by the sight of the "she-cat" 
suddenly reappearing on the ship, picking 
up an axe, and departing as silently as she 
had come, with a countenance that did not 
invite questions. She had taken off her 
smart silk dress, and was in her chemise 
and petticoat, arms and feet bare, and 
waist girded with a sash into which she 
had stuck her revolver. She dropped the 
axe into her boat, rowed silently away, and 
disappeared on the other side of the island. 

The sun was still some distance above 
the sea when she let the axe slip from her 
torn, scratched, and aching hands, and 
stood at last, tired but triumphant, in the 
heart of the mysterious island's mystery. 
She had won her way, with the woodcraft 
that was in her island blood, through the 
dense belt of bush, hacking and slashing 



THE TALE OF THE LOST ISLAND 



297 



e<l 



here, stooping and writhing there, until the 
light began to show through the tangled 
J J stem in front, and a few swift strokes cleared 
J I the way into the open. Yes! there was a 
space in the centre after all — a clearing 
over an acre in extent. There was grass 
here, and a few overgrown bananas, and a 
tangle of yam and pumpkin vines. Pas- 
sion-fruit ran in a tangle of wild luxuriance 
over the inner wall of the thicket, pineapples 
rotted on the ground, and fig-trees spread 
their wide leaves unchecked and unpruned. 
In the middle of all was a house — a one- 
storied little bungalow, iron-roofed, with a 
tank to catch the rain. There was a long, 
low store behind it, and something that 
looked like a pig-sty, and something that 
might have been a fowl-run. But. . . . 

But everything was rotten, ruined, over- 
grown — hardly to be distinguished, in the 
thick tangle of vegetation that had over- 
flowed the little retreat, like a great green 
wave let loose upon a low-lying shore. 
Vaiti knew what she was going to see be- 
fore she had reached the door of the bunga- 
iow, — a rotten floor, with green vines shoot- 
ing up between the crevices, and bush-rats 
cuffling and squeaking under the boards; 
, sunken rusted iron roof, where white- 
taced convolvulus blooms peeped in under 
he rafters, and lizards sunned themselves 
n the airy blue; furniture unglued and de- 
:ayed, fast sinking into one common mass 
)f ruin; door aslant, and threshold sunken. 
Everywhere, silence, emptiness, decay. 
There needed no explanation of the van- 
shed pathway. 

The Maori blood owns strange instincts. 
Vgain, Vaiti knew what she was going to 
ee, before it came — knew and walked 
traight over to a certain corner of the en- 
losure, as if she had been there before. 
It was under a scarlet-flowered hibis- 
us-tree that she found it, — a long, low 
;rave, fenced round with a wall of coral 
labs, so that the overflowing bush had 
urged less thickly here, and one could see 
hat there was something lying on the 
aound, only half hidden by creeping vines 

-something long and white and slender. 

Vaiti dragged away the creepers. . . . 

es, it was a skeleton — bare and fleshless, 
rith bony fingers and black, empty eyes. 
?here was a splintered gap in one temple, 

nd close to one of the hands lay a mass of 
listed steel that had once been a revolver. 



On a flat white stone, standing at the 
head of the grave, a long inscription had 
been carved with infinite care in three differ- 
ent languages. Two of them Vaiti did not 
understand, but the third was English. 
She pulled the growing ferns off the stone, 
and, wiping its surface, read: 

" Here is buried Junia of the race of Vasilieff . 

Died 20th June, 1889. 

Here is buried Anton, son of Junia Vasilieff 

and her husband, Alexis, Baron Varsovi. 

Born 20th June, 

died 2 1 st June, 1889. 

Here rests Alexis, Baron Varsovi. 

Into the unknown thou didst follow me; 

Into the Great Unknown I follow thee. 

Reunited, 21st June, 1889." 

Vaiti, descendant of cannibal chiefs and 
lawless soldiers, more than half a pirate 
herself, and hard of nature as a beautiful 
flinty coral-flower, was yet at bottom a 
woman after all. What passed in the breast 
of this dark, wild daughter of the Southern 
seas, as she stood above the strange, sad 
record of loves and lives unknown, cannot 
be told. But in a little while, with some 
dim recollection of the long-ago, gentle, 
pious days of her convent school, she knelt 
down beside the lonely grave, and, crossing 
herself, said something as near to a prayer 
as she could remember. Then, still kneel- 
ing, she cut and tied two sticks into the 
form of a cross, and set them upright in the 
earth of the mound. The sun was slanting 
low and red across the grave as she turned 
away. 



"What'd she give you?" asked Harris, 
eagerly, as the boatswain stepped across the 
gang-plank on the quay. The lights of San 
Francisco were blazing all about; the cars 
roared past; there was a piano-organ jan- 
gling joyously at the corner. 

"Fifty dollars for the two of us," said 
Gray, his acid face sweetened with un- 
wonted smiles. 

" Crikey! Honest men is riz in the market 

at last. What in h can she have got 

herself?" 

"Might as well arst me what she got it 
for. Don't know and don't care, so long as 
we've got the makings of a spree like this 
out of it. I see her comin' out of the Roo- 
shian Consulate this mornin', lookin' like 
as if some one 'ad been standin' treat to 
her " 



298 NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 

"You know she don't touch anything." "Now don't you get to thinkin', for you 

"I'm speakin' figuryative; she looked ain't built that way, and you'll do yourself 

that sort of way. And comin' back to the a mischief," said the boatswain, warningly. 

ship, she says to the old man, she says, "And let's be thankful to 'eaven for all its 

'Why, dad, better dead than live!' she says, mercies, say I, that we've got such a nice, 

And he laughs." warm, dry, convenient night for to go andj 

"Don't sound 'olesome," observed Har- get drunk in." 
ris, thoughtfully. 



BEFORE AN AMERICAN ELECTION 

By ARTHUR UPSON 

Loyal hearts, the century through, 

Back to you our blessings turn; 
Veins within us filled by you 

Yet with righteous ardor burn! 

Down the years hot truth has run 
Purest in your earthern mould — 

Bunker Hill and Lexington 
Leave us models from of old. 

We who till the fervent West — 

How ye would have loved the land! — 

Feel the fire of your unrest 

By the breath of danger fanned. 

Not diminished, farmer sires, 

Runs our yet-indignant blood — 
Waked to sympathetic fires 

And more watchful hardihood. 

'T is a stealthier alien we 

Fight upon our father's soil — 
And his flaming livery 

Is the red-and-gold of spoil. \ 

Hearts triumphant, Minute-men, 

Listen in your yielding graves! 
Farmers, rise to fight again 

Where the alien's banner waves! 



OLD KING SPRUCE 

By HOLMAN F. DAY 
X. THE HOSTAGE OF THE GREAT WHITE SILENCE 



imHj^ HE cook of the Lazy Tom 
*T* I i camp went ahead into the lean- 
iL II to, whose rude interior had so 
■™ suddenly been made mystic 
H by death. 
" 'Yes, s 'r,' says I to him," he repeated, 
with a queer, bewildered, hysterical sort of 
chuckle. "I says to him, jolly as a chip- 
munk in a beechnut-tree, I says, 'Set up 
and have a doughnut all fresh-laid,' and 
I'll be bunganucked if he wa'n't dead! 
And that 's a joke on me, all right!" 

He held the lamp over the features of old 
"Ladder" Lane, and Dwight Wade and 
Christopher Straight bent and peered. 

"God, if he ain't grinnin'," muttered the 
cook, huskily. For one horrified moment it 
seemed to Wade that the fixed grimace of 
the death-mask expressed hideous mirth. 
The scrawl that the young man still clutched 
[lin his fist held the words that the dead lips 
t seemed to be mouthing: "You stole my 
Wife. I 've got your daughter. Now, damn 
Ivou, crawl and beg." And at thought of 
iLyde Barrett, hidden, lost — worse than 
lost — somewhere in that great white silence 
i jibout them, Wade's agony and anger vent- 
ed in a wicked oath that he groaned above 
I the dead man who seemed to lie there and 
f mock him. 

But Christopher Straight gently laid his 
| seamed hand on the shaggy fringe of the 
< ;ray poll. 

: ' "It was a hot fire that burned in there, 
boor old fellow," he murmured. "And 
hose that knew you can't be sorry that it's 
$one out." 

He pressed his hand up under the hang- 
ng jaw, and smoothed down the half -open 
eyelids. And when he stepped back, after 
lis sad and kindly offices, the old man's 
ace was composed; it was the worn, wasted 
ace of an old man who had suffered much; 
rief, hardship, hunger, and all human 
nisery were writ large there in pitiful char- 



acters, in hollow temple, sunken cheeks, 
pinched nostrils, and lips drawn as one 
draws them after a bitter sob. And over its 
misery, after a long stare of honest grief, the 
old woodsman drew the edge of the bunk's 
worn, gray blanket, muttering as soothingly 
as though he were comforting a sick man, 
" Take your rest, old fellow. There 's a long 
night ahead of you." 

Wade led the way into the main camp, 
his head down. He stumbled along blindly, 
for the sudden tears were hot in his eyes. He 
regretted that instant of anger as a profana- 
tion that even his harrowing fears for Lyde 
Barrett could not excuse. For Linus Lane, 
lying there dead, he reflected, was the spoil 
of the lust of Lyde Barrett's father, as his 
peace of mind and his sanity had been play- 
things of John Barrett's contemptuous in- 
difference; and who was he, Dwight Wade, 
that he should sit in judgment, even though 
his heart were bursting with the agony of 
his fears? 

"In the woods a tree falls the way of the 
ax-scarf, Mr. Wade," said old Christopher, 
patting his shoulder. "John Barrett felled 
that one in there, and he and his got in the 
way of it. Don't blame the tree, but the 
man that chopped it." 

"Where is she, Christopher? What has 
he done with her?" demanded the young 
man, hoarsely. He did not look up. His 
eyes were full. He was trying to unfold the 
scrap of paper, but his fingers trembled so 
violently that he tore it. 

They had not marked the hasty exit of 
the cook. He came in at the door, break- 
ing upon the long hush that had fallen be- 
tween Wade and the woodsman. The cook 
was convoying Barnum Withee, operator on 
Lazy Tom, and his chopping boss, and the 
men of Lazy Tom came streaming behind, 
moved by curiosity. 

"And I says to him, and these gents here 
will tell you the same, I says, ' Set up and 

299 



3°° 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



have a fresh-laid dough tnut! ' " babbled the 
cook, retailing his worn story over and 
over. 

"I did n't know you were here," said the 
hospitable head of the camp, "till cook 
passed it to me along with the other news, 
that poor Lane had parted his snub-line. I 
looked him over when he was brought in, 
but I did n't see any chance for him." And 
after inviting them to eat and make "their 
bigness" in the office camp, he went on 
into the lean-to. 

"Put on your cap, boy!" said old Chris- 
topher, touching Wade's elbow. The grum- 
ble of many voices, the crowd slowly jos- 
hing into the camp, the half -jocose com- 
ments on "Ladder" Lane, disturbed and 
distressed Christopher, and he realized that 
the young man was suffering acutely. 
"Come out with me for a little while." 

The wind had lulled. The heavens were 
clear. The Milky Way glowed with dazzling 
sheen above the forest's nicking where the 
main road led. Wherever the eye found in- 
terstice between the fronds of spruce and 
hemlock, the stars spangled the frosty blue. 
There was a hush so profound that a lis- 
tener heard the blood pulsing at his ears. 
And yet there was something over all that 
was not silence, nor yet a sound, but a 
rhythmical, slow respiration, as though the 
world breathed and one heard it, and, hear- 
ing it, could believe that nature was mortal, 
friend, and kin. 

Christopher walked to the first turn of 
the logging-road, and the young man fol- 
lowed him; and when the trees had shut 
from sight the snow-heaped roofs and the 
yellow lights and all sign of human neigh- 
bors, Christopher stopped, leaned against a 
tree, and gazed up at the sparkling heavens. 

"I reckoned your feelin's was gettin' 
away from you a bit, Mr. Wade," said the 
old man, quietly, "and I thought we'd step 
out for awhile where we can sort of get a 
grip on somethin' stationary, as you might 
say. In time of deep trouble, when they 
happen to be round, a chap feels inclined 
to grab holt of poor human critters, but 
they ain't much of a prop to hang to. Not 
when there 's the big woods!" 

"The big woods have got her, Christo- 
pher," choked the young man, despairingly. 
"And I'm afraid!" 

"The big woods look savagest to you 
when you're peekin' into them from a camp 



window in the night," declared the old man. 
"But when you're right out in 'em, like we 
are now, they ain't anything but friendly. 
Look around you! Listen! There's noth-l 
ing to be afraid of. Let the big woods talk j 
to you just a moment, my boy. Forget there 
are men, for just a little while. I 've let the I 
woods talk to me in some of the sore times I 
in my life, and they've always comforted' 
me when I really set myself to listen." 

" My God, I can only hear the words that j 
are written on this scrap of paper," cried] 
Wade. He shook "Ladder" Lane's crum- 
pled letter before the woodsman's face, and 
Christopher quietly reached for it, took it, 
and tore it up. 

"When a paper talks louder than the 
good old woods talk it's time to get rid of 
it," he remarked, and tossed the bits over 
the snow. 

"I ain't goin' to tell you not to worry," 
Christopher went on after a time. "I'm no 
fool and you're no fool. It's a hard prop- 
osition, Mr. Wade. A lunatic whirling in 
a snow-cloud like a leaf, round and round, 
and then driftin' out, and no way in God's 
world of tellin' which way he came from! 
And there 's some one — off that way he 
came from — that you want terrible bad! 
Yet even that lunatic's tracks have been 
patted smooth by the wind. It's no time to 
talk with human critters, Mr. Wade. It 
would be 'Run this way and run that!' 
Let the woods talk to you! They've been 
wrastlin' the big winds all day. They'll 
have to wrastle 'em again to-morrow. And! 
they'll be ready for the fight. Hear 'erj 
sleep? The same for you and for me, Mr. 
Wade. Go in and sleep, and be ready for 
what comes to-morrow." 

He walked ahead, leading the way back 
to camp, and Wade followed, every aching 
muscle crying for rest, though his heart, 
aching more poignantly, called on him to 
plunge into the forest in search of the help- 
less hostage the woods were hiding. 

It is not in the nature of woodsmen to 
pry into another's reason for this or that. 
Barnum Withee gave Christopher Straight 
an opportunity to explain why he and his 
employer happened to be so far off the 
Enchanted operation; but when Christo- 
pher Straight smoked on without explaining, 
Barnum Withee smoked on without asking 
questions. In one of the dim bunks of the 
wangan Wade breathed stertorously, drugged 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



301 



with nature's opiate of utter weariness. 
And after listening a moment with an air of 

' relief, Christopher broke upon Withee's 
meditations. 

"Was you tellin' me where Lane has been 
makin' his headquarters since he skipped 

J the fire -station?" he inquired, inno- 

I cently. 

"I was thinkin' about him, too," returned 

\ Withee, promptly. "Headquarters! Does 
an Injun Devil with a steel trap on his tail 
have headquarters whilst he's runnin' and 
yowlin'? Whether he's been in the air or 
in a hole since he went out of his head, time 
of the fire, I don't know. Eye ain't been 
laid on him till he come out of that snow- 
squall, walkin' like an icicle, and hootin' 
like a barn owl." 

"Heard of any goods bein' missed from 
any depot camps?" pursued the woodsman, 
shrewdly. "That might tell where he's 
been hangin' out." 

"No," said the operator, suddenly 
brusque. Then he looked up from the 
sliver that he had been whittling absent- 



'11 mindedly, and fixed keen eye on Straight. 
™J"Say, look here, Chris, if you and your 
1 j young friend are over here huntin' for Lane, 
)a 1 j or for any documents or papers or evidence 
)e iJto make more trouble for John Barrett, 
e :t I've got to tell you that you can't ring me 
in. Barrett and me has fixed!" 

"I reckoned you would," said Christo- 
pher. "Stumpage kings usually get their 
[own way." 

"Well, it's different in this case," de- 
clared the operator, triumphantly, "and 
Iwhen I've been used square I cal'late to 
iuse the other fellow square, and that's why 
I'm tellin' you, so that you won't make any 
mistake about how I feel toward Mr. Bar- 
Irett. I don't approve of any move to hector 
ijhim about that Lane matter. He says to 
Ime at Castonia — " 
"When?" 

"No longer ago than yesterday. I came 
(through from down river with two new 
[teamsters and a saw filer, and hearin' Mr. 
v Barrett was able to set up and talk a little 
'Jj business, I stepped into Rod Ide's house, 
ind we fixed. Throwed off all claims for 
:1 * extry stumpage and damages on Square- 
hole. And when a man gives me more than 
I expect, that fixes me with him." 
"Ought to, for sartin," agreed Christo- 
Change of heart in him, or because 



f pher. 



you knowed about the Lane case?" The 
tone was rather satirical, and Withee flushed 
under his tan. 

"You don't think I went to a sick man's 
bedside and blackmailed him, do you, like 
some — " 

"Friend Barn," broke in the old woods- 
man, quietly, "don't slip out any slur that 
you'll wish you had n't." 

"Well," growled the operator, "it may 
be that * Stumpage John' Barrett ain't al- 
ways set a model for a Sunday school, but 
if I had as pretty a daughter as that one that 
was settin' in his room with him, and as nice 
a girl as she seems to be, though of course 
she did n't stoop to talk to a grizzly looservee 
like me, I'd hate to have an old dead and 
decayed scandal dug up in these woods, and 
dragged out and dumped over my front- 
yard fence in the city!" 

And Christopher remembered what he 
had remarked on one occasion to Dwight 
Wade, when they had seen the waif of the 
Skeet tribe on Misery Gore, and now he 
half chuckled as he squinted at Withee and 
muttered in his beard, "Lots of folks don't 
recognize white birch when it's polished 
and set up in a parlor." 

"What say?" demanded the operator, 
suspiciously. 

"I'm so sleepy I'm dreamin' out loud," 
explained Christopher, blandly, "and I'm 
goin' to turn in." And he sighed to himself 
as he rolled in upon the fir boughs and 
pulled the spread about his ears. "There's 
some feller said that good counsel cometh in 
the morning. Mebbe so — mebbe so! But 
it will have to be me and the boy, here, for 
the job, because old Dan'l Webster with all 
his flow of language could n't convince Barn 
Withee now that it's John Barrett's daugh- 
ter that is lost in these woods. I know now 
why something told me to go slow on the 
hue and cry." 

Wade did not wake when the cook's wail- 
ing hoot called the camp in the morning. 
It was black darkness still. He slept through 
all the clatter of tin dishes, the jangle of 
bind chains as the sleds started, the yawl of 
runners on the dry snow, and the creaking 
of departing footsteps. The sun quivered 
in his eyes when he rolled in the bunk at 
touch of old Christopher's hand on his 
shoulder. 

"Oh, but you needed it all, my boy!" 
protested the woodsman, checking the 



302 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



young man's peevish regrets that he had 
slept so long. "Come to breakfast." 

Barnum Withee had eaten with his men, 
but he was waiting in solitary state in the 
cook camp, smoking his pipe and moodily 
rapping the horn handle of a case knife on 
the table. 

"Law says," he remarked to his guests, 
continuing aloud his meditations, "that 
employer shall send out remains of them 
that die in camp. But I ain't employer in 
this case, and I 'm short of hosses anyway, 
and the tote-team only came in yesterday 
and ain't due to go out again for a week." 

"It makes a lot of trouble, old critters 
dyin' that ain't got friends," observed Chris- 
topher, spooning out beans. 

"You may mean that sarcastic, but it's 
the truth just the same," retorted Withee. 
"He ain't northin' to me. What I was 
thinkin' of, if you were bound out — " 

"Ain't goin' that way," said the woods- 
man, giving Wade a pregnant hint in a 
look. 

"Well, from things you let drop last 
night," grumbled the operator, "I figured 
that you were more or less interested in old 
Lane, and perhaps were lookin' him up for 
somethin', and if so you ought to be willin' 
to help get him out and buried in a ceme- 
tery. He ain't a friend of mine and never 
was, and it ain't square to have the whole 
thing dumped onto me." 

Wade, his heart made tender by his own 
grief, gazed toward the lonesome isolation of 
the lean-to with swimming eyes. Alone, 
living; alone, dead! But Christopher put 
into cold phrase the burning fact they had 
to face. 

"We've got business of our own for to- 
day, Barnum, and mighty important busi- 
ness, too." 

And pulling their caps about their ears, 
and tugging their moose-sled, they set away, 
up the tote-road to the north, leaving Bar- 
num Withee not wholly easy in his mind in 
regard to their motives. 

It was from the snow-swirl on Dickery 
Pond that "Ladder" Lane had emerged, 
even then death-struck. It was straight to 
Dickery that Christopher led the way, and 
two hours' steady trudging brought them 
there. 

"So it was from off there he came," mut- 
tered the woodsman, blinking into the glare 
of the snow crystals on its broad surface. 



"But where, in God's name, he came from] 
it ain't in me to say." 

It was one of those still, winter days 
when even the wind seems to be bound by 
the hard frost. The sliding snow-shoes 
shrieked as shrilly with the sun high as they 
had in the early morning. There was no 
hint of melting. 

"There are five old operations around 
this pond, and a set of empty camps on 
each one," said Straight. "I've been to 
each one of them in times past, and I know 
where the main roads come out to the land-i 
ings. But it's slow business, takin' 'em one 
after the other. Perhaps we ought to go 
back and beat the truth of this thing into 
Barn Withee's thick head and start the hue 
and cry — but — but — I 'd hoped to do it 
some better way." 

"Straight," panted the young man, "it's 
getting to be perfectly damnable, this sus 
pense! Let's do something, if it's only to 
run up the middle of that pond and shout!" 

" Well," snorted the old guide, irrelevantly, 
"I've been lookin' for old red fins to come 
along for two days now, and I ain't disap- 
pointed. If there's trouble anywhere in 
this section old Eli has got a smeller that 
leads him to it." Wade whirled from his 
despairing survey up the pond and saw 
Prophet Eli. He was coming down the 
tote-road on his "ding-swingle," urging on 
his little white stallion with loose, clapping 
reins. Huge mittens of vivid red encased! 
his hands, and his conical, knitted cap was 
red and was pulled down over his ears like 
a candle-snuffer. 

Wade felt a queer little thrill of super 
stition as he looked on him, and then sneered 
at himself as one who was allowing good 
wit to be infected by the idle follies of the 
woods. And yet there was something eerie 
in the way this bizarre old wanderer turned 
up now, as he had appeared twice before at 
times that meant so much, at moments so 
crucial, in Wade's woods life. 

Prophet Eli swung up to them, halted, and 
peered at them curiously out of his little 
eyes. 

"Green, blue, and yellow," he blurted 
patting his much-variegated wool jacket 
"And red ! Red mittens good for the arterial 
blood. Why don't you wear 'em?" 

" Say, look here, prophet — " began Chris- 
topher, blandly respectful. 

"Green is nature's color. Calms the 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



3°3 



Iby 



set 



ao 



fin 

life 



lerves. Blue, electricity for the system — 
got a stripe of it all up and down my back- 
bone. Good for you. Ought to wear it. 
Yellow, kidneys and cathartic. You'd 
rather be sick, eh? Be sick. Clek-clek!" 
He clucked his tongue and clapped his 
reins. But Christopher grabbed at the 
stallion's head-stall and checked him. 

"I believe the idea is all c'rect, prophet, 
and I'll try it and make it right with you. 
But just now I'm wantin' a little informa- 
tion, and I '11 make it right with you for that, 
too. You're sky-hootin' round these woods 
all the time. Now, where 's Lane been makin' 
his headquarters ? — you ought to know!" 

"What do you want him for? State 
prison or insane asylum?" snapped the 
prophet. 

"I don't want him," said the woodsman, 
solemnly. "He's spoken for, Eli. He's 
down there, dead, in Barn Withee's camps." 

The little gray eyes shuttled with one 
sudden blink. What that emotion was that 
shuttled those eyes one could not guess. 
For the voice of the prophet did not waver 
in its brisk staccato. " Dead, eh ? Hate-bug 
crawled into him and did it. I told him to 
stay in the woods and the hate-bug could n't 
get him. Told him twenty years ago. But 
he was n't careful. Let the hate-bug get 
him at last. Dead, eh ? I '11 go and get him." 

"Get him?" echoed Christopher. 

"Promised to bury him," explained the 
prophet, promptly. "Wanted to be buried 
off alone, just as he lived. Rocks for a pil- 
low. Expects to rest easy. I helped him 
dig his grave and lay out the rocks a long 
time ago. And I '11 tell no one the place — 
no, sir." 

"Well, that lets Withee out of trouble 
and expense," said the woodsman, "and 
you'll get a good reception down that way. 
Now, prophet, where 's he been hiding? 
You know. It's important, I tell you." 
The old man had struck his stallion, and 
the animal was trying to get away. But 
Christopher held on grimly. 

"You call yourself a good woodsman?" 
squealed the indignant Eli. 

"I reckon I'll average well." 

"If any one wants anything of 'Ladder' 
Lane now," cried the prophet, "it must be 
for something that he's left behind him. 
Left behind him!" he repeated. He stood 
up on the "ding-swingle," and ran keen 
gaze about the ridges that circled the lake. 



" Was it something that could build a fire ? " 
he demanded, sharply. Christopher, in no 
mood for confidences, stared at the peppery 
old man. " You call yourself a good woods- 
man and don't know what it must mean to 
see that!" He pointed his whip at a thin 
trail of white smoke that mounted, as ten- 
uous, almost, as a thread, above the distant 
shore of Dickery Pond. "No lumbermen 
operating there for three years, and you see 
that, and are lookin' for something and don't 
go and find out! And you call yourself a 
woodsman! " Without further word or look, 
he lashed the stallion, the animal broke 
away with a squeal, and Prophet Eli's "ding- 
swingle" disappeared down the tote -road 
in a swirl of snow. 

"No, I ain't a woodsman!" snorted 
Christopher. He started away across the 
pond at a pace that left Wade breath only 
for effort and not for questions. "I ain't a 
woodsman. Standin' there and not seein' 
that smoke! Not seein' it and guessin' 
what it must mean! I ain't a woodsman!" 
Over and over he muttered his bitter com- 
plaints at himself in disjointed sentences. 
"I'm gettin' old. I must be blind. A lu- 
natic can tell me my business." His anger 
rowelled him on, and when he reached the 
opposite shore of the lake he was obliged to 
wait for the younger man to come floun- 
dering and panting up to him. 

"I don't feel just like talkin' now, Mr. 
Wade," he said, gruffly. "I don't feel as 
though I knew enough to talk to any one 
over ten years old." He strode on, tugging 
the sled. 

An abandoned main logging-road, well 
grown to leafless moose-wood and witch- 
hobble, led them up from the lake. Chris- 
topher did not need to search the skies for 
the smoke. His first sight of it had betrayed 
the camp's location. He knew the roads 
that led to it. And in the end they came 
upon it, though it seemed to Wade that the 
road had set itself to twist eternally through 
copses and up and down the hemlock 
benches. 

The camps were cheerless, the doors of 
main camp, cook camp, and hovel were 
open, and the snow had drifted in. But 
from the battered funnel of the office camp 
came that trail of smoke, reaching straight 
up. Crowding close to the funnel for warmth, 
and nestled in the space that the heat had 
made in the snow, crouched a creature that 



3°4 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



Wade recognized as "Ladder" Lane's tame 
bobcat. This, then, was "Ladder" Lane's 
retreat. Inside there — the young man's 
knees trembled, and there was a hideous 
gripping at his throat, dry and aching from 
his frantic pursuit of his grim guide. 

"Mr. Wade," said Christopher, halting, 
"I reckon she's there, and that she's all 
right. In an awful state of mind, but all 
right. I'll let you go ahead. She knows 
you. I don't need to advise you to go care- 
ful." 

And Wade went, tottering across the un- 
marked expanse of snow, the pure carpet 
nature had laid between him and the altar 
of his love, an altar within log walls, an 
altar whose fires were tended by — he 
pushed open the door! Foolish Abe was 
kneeling by the hearth of the rusty Frank- 
lin stove. And even as he had been toiling 
on Enchanted, so here he was whittling, 
whittling unceasingly, piling the heaps of 
shavings upon the fire — unconscious sig- 
naller of the hiding-place of Lyde Barrett. 

For a moment Wade stood holding by 
the sides of the door, staring into the gloom 
of the camp, for his eyes were as yet blinded 
by the glare of outdoors. 

And then he saw her. Her white face 
was peering out of the dimness of a bunk. 
Plainly she had withdrawn herself there 
like some cowering creature, awaiting a fate 
she could not understand or anticipate. 
One could see that those eyes, wide-set and 
full of horror, had been strained on that 
uncouth, hairy creature at the hearth dur- 
ing long and dreadful suspense. 

In the agonized plottings of forty-eight 
hours he had dreamed of such a delirious 
moment of rescue as this. Through all that 
desperate search, in hunger, weariness, and 
despair, he had forgotten John Barrett, 
contemptuous millionaire; he remembered 
that John Barrett's daughter Lyde had con- 
fessed once that she loved him, and he had 
thought that when they met again, this 
time outside the trammels of society and in 
the saner atmosphere of the big woods, she 
might understand him better — understand 
him well enough to know that John Bar- 
rett lied when he made honest love con- 
temptible by his sneers about "fortune- 
seekers." They were all very chaotic, his 
thoughts, to be sure, but he had believed 
that the ground on which they would meet 
would be that common level of honest hu- 



man hearts, where they could stand, eye to 
eye, hands clasping hands, and love answer- 
ing love in candor. 

But love that casts all to the winds, love 
that forgets tact, prudence, delicacy, love 
without premeditation or afterthought, is 
not the love that is ingrained in New Eng- 
land character. She gazed at him at first, 
not comprehending, — her fears still blind- 
ing her — and he paused to murmur words 
of pity and reassurance. 

And then Yankee prudence, given its 
opportunity to whisper, told him that to 
act the precipitate lover now would be to 
take advantage of her weakness, her help- 
lessness, her gratitude. If he took this first 
chance to woo her, demanding, as it were, 
that she disobey her father's commands, 
and putting a price on the service that he 
was rendering her, might her good sense not 
suggest that, after all, he was a sneak rather 
than an unselfish gentleman ? 

They call New England disposition of the 
old bed-rock sort hard and selfish. It is 
rather acute sensitiveness, timorous even to 
concealment. 

And in the end Dwight Wade, faltering 
banal words of pity for her plight, went to 
her with as much outside calm as a mart 
displays who is assisting a lady to rise from 
a slippery sidewalk. And she, her soul still 
too full of the horror of her experience to 
let her heart speak what it felt, took his 
hands and came out upon the rough floor. 

The shaggy giant squatting by the hearth 
bent meek and humid eyes on the young 
man. " Me do it — me do it as you told! " he 
protested. He patted his hand on the shav- 
ings. He was referring to the task to which 
Wade had set him on Enchanted. To the 
girl, bewildered still, it sounded like the 
confession of an understanding between this 
unspeakable creature and her rescuer. 
Wade, eager only to soothe, protested guile- 
lessly, when she shrank back, that the man 
was not the ogre he seemed, but a harmless, 
simple fellow whom he had been sheltering 
and feeding at his own camp. And then, by 
the way she stared at him, he realized into 
what horrible misunderstanding suspicion 
might distort this situation. 

"I don't understand," she mourned. 
"It's like a dreadful dream. There was an 
old man who muttered, and sat here in front 
of me and raved about my father! And 
this — this — " she faltered, shrinking far- 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



3°5 



ther from Abe, "who brought me here in 
his arms! And you say he came from your 
camp! Oh, these woods — these terrible 
woods! Take me away from them. I am 
afraid!" 

She dropped the shrouding blanket from 
her shoulders, and he saw her now in the 
habiliments of the waif of the Skeets. And 
under his scrutiny he saw color in her cheeks 
for the first time, hue that replaced the pal- 
lor of distress. 

"I had thought there was excuse for this 
folly — reason for it. I thought it was my 
duty to — " she faltered, then set her teeth 
upon her lower lip and turned away from 
him. " Oh, take me away from these woods. 
Something — I do not know — something 
bewitched me — made me forget myself — 
sent me on a fool's errand! The woods — 
I am afraid of them, Mr. Wade!" 

It came to him with a pang that the woods 
were not offering to his love that common 
ground of sincerity that he had dreamed of. 
Lyde Barrett, ashamed of her weakness, 
would not remember generously an attempt 
to take advantage of her distraught feelings 
at this moment, when every bulwark of 
convention and maidenly reservation lay in 
ruins about her. So he pondered, ashamed 
of the burning desire to take her in his arms 
and comfort her. And thus self-convinced, 
he failed to realize that the girl in her bit- 
ter words was merely striving, blindly and 
innocently, to be convinced — and con- 
vinced from his own mouth — that she had 
been wise in her folly, devoted in her mis- 
sion, and honest in the love that had found 
such heroic expression in her adventur- 
ing. 

She looked at him and saw in his face 
only the struggle of doubt and hopeless- 
ness and fear, and misinterpreted. "You 
know what the woods have done to make 
shame and ruin and wretchedness, Mr. 
Wade," she cried, a flash of her old spirit 
coming into her eyes. " Men who have been 
honest with the world outside and honest 
with themselves have forgotten all honesty 
up here behind the screen of these savage 
woods." 

Her cheeks were burning now. She threw 
the blanket over herself, hugging its edges 
close in front, covering the attire she wore 
as though it were nakedness. And in that 
bitter moment it was nakedness — for the 
garb she had borrowed from Kate Arden 



symbolized for her and for him a father's 
guilty secret laid bare. 

"Take me away from the woods!" she 
gasped. 

The gaze that passed between them was 
speech unutterable. He had no words for 
her then. In silence he made the long 
sledge ready for her. Christopher helped 
him, silent with the reticence of the woods- 
man; if he had as much as glanced at Lyde 
Barrett no bystander could have detected 
that glance. There were thick camp spreads 
on the sled. Christopher's thoughtfulness 
had provided them, and when they had been 
wrapped about her the two men set away, 
each with hand on the sled-rope. 

"We'll go the short way back to En- 
chanted," said the old guide, answering 
Wade's glance. "Back across Dickery, up 
the tote-road, and follow the Cameron and 
Telos roads. It will dodge all camps and 
keep us away from foolish questions. I've 
got enough in my pack from Withee's camp 
for us to eat." 

Abe floundered behind, keeping them in 
sight with the pertinacity of a dog, and ate 
the bread that Straight threw to him with a 
dog's mute gratitude. 

Only the desperation of men utterly re- 
solved could have accomplished the journey 
they set before them. The girl rode, a silent, 
shrouded figure ; the men strode ahead, si- 
lent; Abe struggled on behind, plowing the 
snow with dragging feet. When the night 
fell they went on by the lantern's light. 

It was long after midnight when they came 
at last to the Enchanted camps, walking 
like automatons and almost senseless with 
fatigue. Wade lifted the girl from the sled 
when they halted in front of the wangan. 
Her stiffened and cramped limbs would not 
move of themselves. And when she was on 
her feet, and staggered, he kept his arm 
about her, gently and unobtrusively. 

"This is the best home I have to offer 
you," he said. "Nina Ide is here waiting. 
We will wake her, and she will do for you 
what should be done. Oh, that sounds 
cold and formal, I know — but that poor 
girl waiting in there will put into words all 
the joy that I feel but can't put into words, 
somehow. My head is pretty light — as 
light as my heels are heavy, and I don't 
seem to be thinking very clearly, Miss Bar- 
rett," he murmured, his voice weak with 
pathetic weariness. 



306 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



She was struggling with sobs, striving to 
speak; but he hastened on, as though the 
topic had been long on his lips and his mind. 

"This is — this — I hardly know how to 
say this. But I understand why you came." 
He felt her tremble. "But, my God, Lyde, 
I don't dare to believe that you thought so 
ill of me that you were coming to plead 
with me for your father's sake." It was 
not resentment, it was passionate grief that 
burst from him, and she put her ^hands 
about his arm. 

"I told you it was folly that sent me," 
she sobbed. "But he had been unjust to 
you, Dwight. Oh, it was folly that sent me, 
but I wanted to know if you — if you — " 
she was silent and trembled, and when she 
did not speak he clasped her close, tremb- 
ling as pitifully as she. 

"Oh, if you only dared say that you 
wanted to know whether I still loved you!" 
he breathed, in a thrilling whisper. "And I 
would say — " 

It seemed that his heart came into his 
throat, for her fingers pressed more closely 
upon his arm. In that instant he could not 
speak, and he made pretense of turning his 
head to note the whereabouts of Christo- 
pher, but he needed not to be apprehensive 
regarding the tact of the perspicacious 
woodsman; he saw him disappearing into 
the gloom of the dingle, and heard the care- 
ful lisp of the wooden latch in its socket, and 
the cautious creak of the closing door. 
There was only the hush of the still night 
about him and, when he turned again, the 
starlight was shining in Lyde Barrett's up- 
raised eyes. And those dark orbs were im- 
periously demanding that he complete that 
sentence — so imperiously demanding that 
his tongue burst all those shackles that 
sensitive prudence had bound it with. 

"And I would say that my love for you is 
so far above the mean and petty and shame- 
ful things of the world that they cannot 
make it waver ; and it is so unselfish that I 
can love you the more because you set high 
among your duties the duty of an obedient 
daughter. And I only ask that you "do not 
misunderstand me." There was deep mean- 
ing in his tones. 

" O Dwight, my boy, the mean and 
shameful things!" she moaned, woefully. 
"It's an awful thing for a daughter to dis- 
obey her father. But it's more awful when 
she finds that he — " But he put his fingers 



tenderly on her lips, and when she kissed 
them, tears coursing on her cheeks, he gath- 
ered her close, and his lips did the service 
that his fingers retired from in tremulous 
haste. 

"My little girl," he said, softly, "keep 
that story from off your lips. It is too hard, 
too bitter a subject. I may have said cruel 
things to your father. He may tell you they 
were cruel. But remember that she had 
your eyes, and your face, that poor girl I 
found in these woods. And before God, if 
not before men, she is your sister. And so 
I gave of my heart and my strength to help 
her. And I know your heart so well, Lyde, 
that I rest my case without argument. It's 
better to be ashamed than to be unjust with 
selfish injustice!" 

"She is my sister," she answered, simply, 
but with earnestness there was no mis- 
taking. "And you may leave it in my 
hands." 

Then fearfully, anxiously, grief and 
shame over shattered faith in a father show- 
ing in the face she lifted to him, she asked : 

" It was he, was it not — the old man that 
took me away and sat before me and cursed 
me ? He was her — her husband ? " 

His look replied to her. Then he said, 
soothingly, "It was not in our hands, dear. 
But that which is in our hands let us admin- 
ister as best we can, and so — "he kissed 
her, this time not as the lover, but as the 
faithful, earnest, consoling friend — "and 
so — to sleep ! There 's a morrow almost 
dawning — and it will be a glorious mor- 
row: a cloud or two at sunrise, perhaps, but 
fair skies from then till sunset. My heart 
predicts that much for us. Does not yours ?" 

She drew down his head and pressed her 
lips to his forehead. 

"It is again the days of true knighthood," 
she murmured. "And my knight has taken 
me from the enchanted forest, and has 
shown me his heart — and the last was 
best." 

Still clasping her, he shook the door and 
called to the girl within ; and when she came, 
crying eager questions, he put Lyde Bar- 
rett in her arms and left them together. 

As he walked away from the shadow of 
the camp into the shimmer of the starlight, 
he felt the wine of love coursing his veins. 
His muscles ached, weariness clogged his 
heels, but his eyes were wide-propped, and 
his ears hummed as with a sound of distant 



OLD KING SPRUCE 



307 



t 



music. His thoughts seemed too sacred to be 
taken just then into the company of other 
men. He dreaded to go inside out of the 
radiance of the night. He turned from the 
door of the main camp when his hand was 
fumbling for the latch, pulled his cap over 
his ears, and began slow patrol on the glisten- 
ing stretch of road before the wangan. The 
crisp snow sang like fairy bells under his 
feet. Orion dipped to west, and the morn- 
ing stars paled slowly as the flush crept up 
from the east. And still he walked and 
dreamed, and gazed with mind's eye over 
the sombre obstacles near at hand in his 
life into the radiance of promise, even as 
he looked over the black spruces into the 
faint roses of the dawn. 

Tommy Eye, teamster, stumbling toward 
the hovel for the early foddering, came upon 
him, and stopped and stared in utter amaze- 
ment. He came close to make sure that the 
eerie light of the morning was not playing 
him false. Wade's cheerful greeting seemed 
to perplex him. 

"It isn't a ha'nt, Tommy," said the 
young man, smiling on him. 

"I have said all along as how it had got 
you," declared Tommy, with ingenuous dis- 
appointment, looking Wade up and down 
for marks of conflict. "But it may be that 
the ha'nts want only wood folks and are 
afraid of book-learnin'! So you're back, and 
the girl ain't, nor Christopher, nor — " 

"We're all back," explained Wade, cal- 
culating on Tommy's news-mongering abil- 
ity to relieve him of the need of circulating 
information. "We found the — the one 
that was lost. That was all! She was lost 
and we found her, and we even found Fool- 
ish Abe, and he came back with us last night. 
There was no mystery, Tommy. They 
were simply lost, and we found them. 
They're asleep." 

Tommy fingered the wrinkled skin of 
his neck and stared dubiously at Wade. 
"You'll see Abe whittling shavings just the 
same as usual this morning," added the 
young man. "By the way, you and he may 
be interested to know that Lane, the old 
fire-warden, died at Withee's camp the 
other day." For reasons of his own Wade 
did not care to make either the news of the 
rescue or its locale nor other information 
too definite. 



" Then," declared Tommy, hanging grim- 
ly to the last prop left in his theory, "that 
accounts for it. 'Ladder' Lane is dead, 
and has turned into a ha'nt. It was him that 
called out the fool. And he'll be makin' 
more trouble yet. You'd better send for 
Prophet Eli, Mr. Wade, because the prophet 
is a charmer-man and can take care of old 
Lane." 

"He has taken care of him already," 
stated the young man. "We saw Prophet 
Eli and he started right away to attend to 
the case." And Tommy's face displayed 
such eminent satisfaction that Wade had 
not the heart to destroy the man's belief that 
his book-learned boss had adopted a part of 
the woods creed of the supernatural. It 
was a day on which he felt very gentle 
toward the dreams of other persons, for his 
own beautiful dream shed its radiance on 
all men and all of life. 

That she was there, safe, brought by 
amazing circumstances into the depths of 
the woods, and under his protection, seemed 
like a vision of the night as he trudged there 
and watched the morning grow. 

When the sun was high and the men had 
been gone for hours, he put his dream to 
the test: he rapped gently on the wangan 
door and her voice, a very real and lov- 
ing voice, answered. With his own hands he 
brought their food and spread a cedar- 
splint table, and served them as they ate, 
and ministered in little ways, through the 
hours of the day, and watched the girl's pal- 
lor and weariness give way before tender- 
ness and love. With the poor shifts of a 
lumber-camp he, not intending it, taught 
her heart the lesson that love is careless of 
its housing. 

He rode with them on the tote-team to 
the northern jaws of Pogey Notch the next 
day, and sent them on, nested in a bower of 
blankets. There had been no further Jword 
between them of the great thing that had 
come into their lives. They tacitly and 
happily accepted it all, and left the solution 
of its problem to saner and happier days. 
But the face that she turned back to him as 
she rode away under the frowning rocks was 
glowing promise of all he asked of life. And 
as he plodded back up the trail he went 
to his toil with tingling muscles and a tri- 
umphant soul. 



AN ALL -HALLOWS' HONEYMOON 



By JEANNETTE MARKS 




NTERMITTENTLY the 

wind whined and raced, howl- 
ing like a wolf, through the 
Gwynen Valley; and intermit- 
tently, too, the rain doused the 
bridge on whose slate coping Vavasour 
Jones leaned. It was a night when spirits 
of air and earth, the racing wind, the thun- 
dering water, the slashing rain, were the 
very soul of this chaos of noise. Still, cosy 
lights shone on either side of the bridge, the 
lights of Ty Ucha and Ty Isaf, where a 
good mug of beer could be had for a mere 
song to a man of Vavasour's means. And 
the lights from all the cottages, too, for it 
was All-Hallows' Eve, twinkled with festive 
brilliance upon the drenched flags of the 
street. Indeed, there was not one of these 
houses in all Gwynen whose walls and 
flaggings were not familiar to him, where 
Vavasour Jones and his wife Catherine had 
not been on an occasion, — a knitting- 
night, a Christmas, a bidding, a funeral, an 
All-Hallows' Eve. But to-night his eyes 
gazed blankly upon these preliminary signs 
of a merry evening within doors, and he 
seemed unconscious of the rain pouring 
upon him and the wind slapping the bridge. 
He moved when he saw a figure approaching. 
"Hai! Eilir!" 
"Who is it, man?" 
"It's me; it's Vavasour Jones." 
"Wei, lad, what do ye here in the dark 
and rain?" 

Vavasour said nothing ; Eilir peered more 
closely at him. 

"Are ye sick, lad?" 

"No, I think." Vavasour's voice rang 
drearily, as if that were the least of ills that 
could befall him. 

"Wei, what ails ye?" 
"It's All-Hallows' Eve, an'—" 
"Aren't ye goin' to Pally Hughes's?" 
"Och," he moaned, "min Diawl, goin' 
to Pally Hughes's while it's drawin' nearer 
an' nearer an' — Ow!" 

"Twt, man," said Eilir, sharply, "ye 're 
ill. Speak up; tell me what ails ye." 
308 



"Ow-w!" groaned Vavasour. 

Eilir drew away; here was a case where 
All-Hallows' had played havoc early in the 
evening. What should he do? Get him 
home? Notify Catherine? Have the min- 
ister ? He was inclining to the last resource 
when Vavasour groaned again and spoke: 

"Eilir, I wisht I were dead, man." 

"Twt, lad, what is it?" 

"It's the night when Catherine must go." 

"When Catherine must go? What do 
ye mean?" 

"She'll be dead the night at twelve." 

"Dead at twelve?" asked Eilir, bewil- 
dered. "Does she know it?" 

"No, but I do; an' to think I've been un- 
kind to her. I 've tried this year to make up 
for it, but it's no use, man, is it? One 
year '11 never make up for ten of harsh 
words an' unkind deeds, will it? Ow!" 
groaned Vavasour, collapsing onto the slate 
coping once more. 

"Wei, ye've no been good to her," re- 
plied Eilir, mystified, "that's certain, man; 
but I've heard ye've been totally different 
the past year, whatever. Griffiths was say- 
in' he never heard any more sharp words 
comin' from your windows, an' they used to 
rain like hail on the streets some days." 

"Aye, but a year '11 no do any good, an' 
she'll be dyin' at twelve to-night. Och!" 

"'Ts, 'ts," said Eilir, catching at the only 
thing he could think of to say, "there's 
plenty in the scriptures about a man an' his 
wife." 

"Aye, but it '11 no do, no do, no do," 
sobbed Vavasour Jones. 

"Have ye been drinkin', lad?" 

"Drinkin', indeed!" exclaimed Jones. 

"Wei, no harm. But, lad, about the 
scripture; there's plenty in the scriptures 
concernin' a man an' his wife, an' ye've 
broken much of it about lovin' a wife, an' 
yet I cannot understand why Catherine's 
goin', an' where." 

"She's no goin' anywhere, Eilir; she'll be 
dyin' at twelve." 

Whereupon Vavasour Jones rose up sud- 



AN ALL-HALLOWS' HONEYMOON 



3°9 



denly from the coping, took a step forward, 
seized Eilir by the coat-lapel, and, with 
eyes flickering like coals in the dark, told 
his story. All the little Gwynen world knew 
that he and his wife had not lived happily 
or well together; there had been no chil- 
dren coming and no love lost, and as the 
days went on, bickering, scolding, harsh 
words, and even ugly actions. Aye, and it 
had come to such a pass that a year ago this 
night, on All-Hallows' Eve, he had gone 
down to the church porch shortly before 
midnight to see whether the spirit of Cath- 
erine would be called, and whether she 
would live the twelve months out. And as 
he was leaning against the church wall 
hoping — aye, man — and praying that he 
might see her there, he saw something 
coming around the corner with white over 
its head; it drew nearer and nearer, and 
when it came in full view of the church 
porch it paused, it whirled around, and 
sped away with the wind flapping about its 
feet and the rain beating down on its head. 
But Vavasour had time to see that it was 
the spirit of Catherine, and he was glad be- 
cause his prayer had been answered, and 
because with Catherine dying the next All- 
Hallows' they would have to live together 
only the year out. So he went homeward 
joyfully, thinking it was the last year; and 
considering as it was the last year, he might 
just as well be as kind and pleasant as pos- 
sible. When he reached home he found 
Catherine up waiting for him. And she 
spoke so pleasantly to him, and he to her, 
and the days went on as happily as the court- 
ing days before they were married! Each 
day was sweeter than the one before, and 
they knew for the first time what it meant 
to be man and wife in love and kindness. 
But all the while he saw that white figure 
by the churchyard, and Catherine's face in 
its white hood, and he knew the days were 
lessening, and that she must go. Here it 
was All-Hallows' Eve again, and but four 
hours to midnight, and the best year of his 
life was almost past. Aye, and it was all 
the result of his evil heart and evil wish and 
evil prayer. 

"Think, man !" groaned Vavasour ; "pray- 
in' for her callin'; aye, goin' there hopin' 
ye'd see her spirit, an' countin' on her 
death." 

"Dear anwyl, it's bad," replied Eilir, 
mournfully. "Aye, an' I've no word to say 



to ye for comfort. I recollect well the story 
my granny used to tell about Christmas 
Powell; it was somethin' the same. An' 
there was Betty Williams was called ten 
years ago an' did n't live the year out; an' 
there was Silvan Evans, the sexton, an' Gef- 
fery his friend, was called two years ago; 
an' Silvan had just time to dig Geffery's 
grave an' then his own, too, by its side, an' 
they was buried the same day an' hour." 

"Ow!" wailed Vavasour. 

"Aye, man, it's bad; it'll have to be en- 
dured — an' to think ye brought it on your- 
self! Where's Catherine?" 

"She's to Pally Hughes's for the All-Hal- 
lows party." 

"Dyn a styrio! She'll be taken there." 

"Aye; an', O Eilir, she was loath to go 
to Pally's, but I could not tell her the truth, 
whatever." 

"That's so, lad; are ye no goin' ?" 

"Indeed, I cannot go; I'm fair crazy, an' 
I '11 just be creepin' home, waitin' for them 
to bring her back. Ow!" 

"I'm sorry, man," called Eilir, looking 
after him with an expression of sympathy; 
"it's past helpin' now." 

Across the bridge the windows of Pally 
Hughes's gray stone cottage shone with can- 
dles, and as the door swung to and fro ad- 
mitting guests the lights from within flick- 
ered on the brass door-sill and the hum of 
merry words reached the street. Mrs. Mor- 
gan, the baker, dressed in her new scarlet 
whittle and a freshly starched cap, was 
there ; Mr. Howell, the milliner, in his high- 
lows and wonderful plum-colored coat; 
Mrs. Jenkins, the tinman, with bright new 
ribbons to her cap and a new beaver hat 
which she removed carefully upon enter- 
ing ; and Mr. Wynn, the shop whose clothes 
were always the envy of Gwynen village; 
and many others, big-eyed girls and straight 
young men, who crossed the bright door- 
sill. Finally, Catherine Jones tapped on 
the door. Within, she looked vacantly at 
the candles on the mantelpiece and on the 
table, all set in festoons of evergreens and 
flanked by a display of painted china eggs 
and animals ; and at the lights shining stead- 
ily, while on the hearth a fire crackled. 
Catherine, so heavy was her heart, could 
scarcely manage a decent friendly greeting 
to old Pally Hughes, her hostess. She 
looked uncheered at the big centre-table 
whereon stood a huge blue wassail-bowl, 



3io 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



about it little piles of raisins, buns, spices, 
biscuits, sugar, a large jug of ale, and a 
small bottle tightly corked. She watched 
the merriment with indifference; bobbing 
for apples and sixpences seemed such stu- 
pid games. There was no one in whom she 
could confide now, and, anyway, it was too 
late; there was nothing to be done, and 
while they were talking lightly and singing, 
too, — for the harp was being played, — the 
hours were slipping away, and her one 
thought, her only thought, was to get home 
to Vavasour. "Oh," reflected Catherine, 
"I'm wicked, a wicked woman to be bring- 
in' him to his death!" 

The candles were blown out and the com- 
pany gathered about the fire to tell stories, 
while a kettle of ale simmered on the crane 
and the apples hung roasting. Pally began 
the list. There was the story of the corpse- 
candle Lewis's wife saw, and how Lewis 
himself died the next week; there were the 
goblins that on All-Hallows' Eve led Da- 
vies such a dance, and the folks had to go 
out after him with a lantern to fetch him in 
and found him lying in fear by the sheep- 
wall; and there were the plates and mugs 
Annee turned upside down and an unseen 
visitor turned them right side up before her 
very eyes. Then they began to throw nuts 
in the fire, each with a wish; if the nut 
burned brightly the wish would come true. 
Old Pally threw on a nut; it flickered and 
then blazed up. Maggee tossed one into the 
fire ; it smouldered and gave no light. Grad- 
ually the turn came nearer Catherine ; there 
was but one wish in her heart, and she 
trembled to take the chance. 
"Now, Catherine!" 

"Aye, Catherine, what '11 she be wishin' 
for, a new lover?" they laughed. 

With shaking hand she tossed hers into 
the fire; the nut sputtered and blackened, 
and with a shriek Catherine bounded from 
the circle and sped into the dark. In con- 
sternation the company scrambled to their 
feet, gazing at the open door through which 
volleyed the wind and rain. Old Pally was 
the first to speak: 

"Dear, dear, 't is a bad sign." 
"Aye, poor Catherine 's been called, it 
may be." 

"It's the last time, I'm thinkin', we'll 
ever see her, is n't it?" 

"Do ye think she saw somethin', Pally; 
do ye?" 



"There's no tellin'; but it's bad, very 
bad, though her nut is burnin' brightly 
enough now." 

"She seemed downcast the night, not 
like herself." 

"Twt, it can be no thin' at home, for 
Vavasour, they say, is treatin' her better 
nor ever, an' she's been that sweet-tem- 
pered the year long, which is uncommon 
for her." 

As she fled homeward through the dark, 
little did Catherine think of what they might 
be saying at Pally's. When Vavasour heard 
feet running swiftly along the street he 
straightened up, his eyes in terror upon the 
door. 

"Wala hai, Catherine!" he cried, be- 
wildered at her substantial appearance. "Is 
it ye who are really come?" 

There was a momentary suggestion of a 
rush into each other's arms, checked, as it 
were, in mid-air by Vavasour's reseating 
himself precipitately and Catherine draw- 
ing herself up. 

"Good reason," said Catherine, seeing 
him there and still in the flesh; "it was — 
dull, very dull at Pally's; an' my feet was 
wet an' I feared takin' a cold." 

"Aye," replied Vavasour, looking with 
greed upon her rosy face and snapping 
eyes; "aye, it's indeed better for ye here, 
dearie." 

There was an awkward silence. Cath- 
erine still breathed heavily from the run- 
ning, and Vavasour shuffled his feet. He 
opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it 
again : 

"Did ye have a fine time at Pally's?" he 
asked. 

"Aye; it was gay and fine an' — wel," 
Catherine halted, remembering the reason 
she had given for coming home; and tried 
to explain, "wel, so it was, an' so it wasn't!" 
she ended. 

Vavasour regarded her with attention, 
and there was another pause in which his 
eyes sought the clock. The sight of that 
fat-faced timepiece gave him a shock. 

"A quarter past eleven," he murmured; 
then aloud, " Catherine, do ye recall Pastor 
Evans's sermon, the one he preached last 
New Year?" 

Catherine also had taken a furtive glance 
at the clock — a glance which Vavasour 
caught and wondered at. 
"Catherine, do—" 



AN ALL-HALLOWS' HONEYMOON 



3ii 



"Aye, I remember, about inheritin' the 
grace of life together." 

"Wei, my dear, was n't he sayin' that 
love is eternal an' that — a man — an' — 
an' his wife was lovin' for — for — " 

"Aye, lad, for everlastin' life," Catherine 
concluded. 

There was another pause, a quick glan- 
cing at the clock, and a quick swinging of 
two pairs of eyes towards each other, as- 
tonishment in each pair. 

"Half after eleven," whispered Vava- 
sour, seeming to crumple in the middle. 
"An', dear," he continued, aloud, "didn't 
he — didn't he say that the Lord was mindful 
of our — of our — difficulties, an' our temp- 
tations, an' our — our — " 

"Aye, an' our mistakes," ended Catherine. 

"Do ye think, dearie," he went on, "that 
if a man were to — to — wel — to be un- 
kind a — a very little to his wife — an' was 
sorry an' his wife — his wife — died that 
he'd be — be— ?" 

"Forgiven?" finished Catherine. "Aye, 
I 'm thinkin' so. An', lad dear, do ye think, 
if anythin' was to happen to ye the night — 
aye, this night — that ye 'd take any grudge 
away with ye against me?" 

Vavasour stiffened. 

"Happen to me, Catherine?" 

Then he collapsed, groaning. 

"Och, dearie, what is it, what is it, what 
ails ye?" cried Catherine, coming over to 
his side on the sofa. 

"Nothin', nothin' at all," he gasped, 
slanting an eye at the clock. "Ow, min 
Diawl, it's twenty minutes before twelve." 

"O lad, what is it?" 

"No, I think; ow, it's nothin', nothin' at 
all ; it's — it's — ow ! — it 's just a little 
pain across me." 

Catherine stole a look at the timepiece 
— a quarter before twelve ; aye, it was com- 
ing to him now, and her face whitened to 
the color of the ashes in the fireplace. 

To Vavasour the whimpering of the wind 
in the chimney was like the bare nerve of 
his pain. Even the flickering of the flame 
marked the flight of time which he could 
not stay by any wish or power in him — 
only ten minutes more! Aye, everything 
marked it: the brawl of the stream outside, 
the rushing of the wind, the scattering of 
the rain like a legion of fleeting feet, then a 
sudden pause in the downpour when his 
heart beat as if waiting on an unseen foot- 



step; the very singing of the lazy kettle was 
a drone in this wild race of stream and wind 
and rain, emphasizing the speed of all else. 
Vavasour cast a despairing glance at the 
mantel. Oh, the endless tick-tick, tick-tick 
of that round clock flanked by rows of idi- 
otic fat-faced|whiskered china cats, each with 
an immovable sardonic grin, not a whisker 
stirring to this merciless tick-tick! Aye, it 
was going to strike in a minute, and the 
clanging of it would be like the clanging of 
the gates of hell behind him. He did not 
notice Catherine — that she, too, unmind- 
ful of everything, was gazing in horror at 
the mantel. Vavasour groaned. Oh, if the 
clock were only a toad or a serpent, he 
would put his feet on it, crush it, and — oh ! 
Vavasour swore madly to himself, covering 
his eyes; Catherine cried out, her face in 
her hands — the clock was striking. 

Twelve! 

The last clang of the bell vibrated a sec- 
ond and subsided; the wind whimpered 
softly in the chimney; the teakettle sang on. 
Through a chink in her fingers Catherine 
peered at Vavasour; through a similar chink 
a bright, agonized eye stared at her. 

"Oh!" gulped Catherine. 

"The devil!" exclaimed Vavasour. 

"Lad!" called his wife, putting out a 
hand to touch him. 

Then followed a scene of joy: they em- 
braced, they kissed, they danced about 
madly; and having done it once, they did 
it all over again, and still again. 

"Katy, are ye here, really here?" 

"Am / here ? Twt, lad, are ye here ? " 

"Aye; that is, are we both here?" 

"Did ye think I wasn't goin' to be?" 
asked the wife, pausing. 

"No-o, not that, only I thought, I thought 
ye was goin' — to — to faint. I thought ye 
looked like it," replied Vavasour, with a 
curious expression in his eyes. 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Catherine. Then, sud- 
denly, the happiness in her face was 
quenched. "But, lad, I 'm a wicked woman ; 
aye, Vavasour Jones, a bad woman." 

As Vavasour had poured himself out 
man unto man to Eilir, so woman unto man 
Catherine poured herself out to her hus- 
band. 

"An', lad, I went to the church porch 
hopin', almost prayin', ye'd be called; that 
I'd see your spirit walkin'." 

"Catherine, ye did that!" 



312 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



"Aye; but, O lad, I'd been so unhappy 
with quarrelling and hard words, I could 
think of nothin' else but gettin' rid of 
them." 

"'Twas bad, very bad!" replied Vava- 
sour. 

"An' then, lad, when I reached the church 
corner an' saw your spirit was really there, 
really called, an' I knew ye'd not live the 
year out, I was frightened ; but, O lad, I was 
glad, too." 

Vavasour looked grave: 

"Katy, it was a terrible thing to do." 

"I know it now, but I did n't at that 
time, dearie," answered Catherine. "I was 
hard-hearted, an' I was weak with longin' 
to escape from it all, whatever. An' then 
I ran home," she continued. "I was fright- 
ened, but, O lad dear, I was glad, too; an' 
now it hurts me so to think it. An' when 
ye came in from the Lodge ye spoke so 
pleasantly to me that I was troubled. An' 
now, the year through, it's grown better an' 
better, an' I could think of nothin' but lov- 
in' ye an' wishin' ye to live an' knowin' I 
was the cause of your bein' called. Dear, 
dear, can ye forgive me?" asked Cath- 
erine. 

"Aye," replied Vavasour, slowly, "I can 
— none of us is without sin — but, Katy, 
it was wrong; aye, a terrible thing for a 
woman to do." 

"An' then to-night, lad, I was expectin' 
ye to go, knowin' ye could n't live after 
twelve, an' ye sittin' there so innocent an' 
mournful; an' when the time came I wanted 



to die myself. Oh!" moaned Catherine 
afresh. 

"No matter, dearie, now," comforted 
Vavasour, putting his arm about her; "it 
was wrong in ye, but we're still here, an' 
it 's been a sweet year, has n't it ? Aye, it 's 
been better nor a honeymoon, an' all the 
years after we '11 make better nor this. Wei, 
Katy, let's have a bit of a wassail to cele- 
brate our All-Hallows' honeymoon, shall 
we?" 

"Aye, lad, it would be fine," said Cather- 
ine, starting for the bowl; "but, Vavasour, 
can ye forgive me, think, lad, for hop in', 
aye, an' almost prayin', to see your spirit, 
just wishin' that ye'd no live the year out?" 

"Katy, I can, an' I'm no layin' it up 
against ye, though it was a wicked thing for 
ye to do — for any one to do, whatever. 
Now, dearie, fetch the wassail." 

Catherine started for the bowl once more ; 
then turned, her black eyes snapping upon 
him. 

"But, Vavasour, how does it happen that 
the callin' is set aside an' that ye 're really 
here? Such a thing's no been in Gwynen 
in the memory of man," and Catherine pro- 
ceeded to give a list of the All-Hallows' Eve 
callings that had come inexorably true with- 
in the last hundred years. 

"I'm no sayin' how it's happened, Cath- 
erine; but I'm thinkin' it's modern times 
an' things these days are happenin' differ- 
ent — aye, modern times." 

"Wei," sighed Catherine, contentedly, 
"it's lucky 't is modern times." 




Views of Old-Time Philadelphia 



AS ILLUSTRATED BY THE 



ENGRAVERS OF THE FIRST HALF 
OF THE LAST CENTURT 



From Drawings by 

W. H. BARTLETT 



With Descriptions by 

N . P. WILLIS 



Reproduced from AMERICAN SCENERT, Published in 
London by George Virtue, 26 Ivy Lane, 18 40 



THE SCHUYLKILL WATER-WORKS AT 
PHILADELPHIA 

' ' I S HE Water-works of Philadelphia rank among the most noble public 
X undertakings of the world. The paucity of water in that city first set 
to work the sagacious mind of Doctor Franklin, who, by will, bequeathed 
a portion of a long accumulated legacy to bring a greater supply of this 
necessary element from Wissahiccon Creek. This was found, after a while, 
to be insufficient; and a plan was proposed, and carried into operation, to 
form a reservoir on the east bank of the Schuylkill, from which water was 
to be thrown by a steam-engine into a tunnel, conveyed to a central position, 
and raised by a second engine to a higher reservoir, which supplied all the 
pipes in the city. An experience of ten years satisfied the corporation that 
a sufficient supply could not be obtained by this method. The steam-en- 
gines were liable to frequent accidents, and the derangement of one stopped 
the supply of the whole city. After several other futile experiments, the 
present extensive yet simple water-works were proposed, and three hun- 
dred and fifty thousand dollars voted at once by the city corporation for the 
commencement of the undertaking. 

"The Schuylkill opposite Philadelphia is about nine hundred feet in 
breadth. It is subject to sudden freshets (an American word, unknown in 
this use in England, and meaning an overflow of the river current), but its 
average depth is thirty feet at high water. It was necessary to back the river 
up about six miles; and a dam was then created by cribs and masonry, run- 
ning diagonally across, with several ingenious contrivances to prevent dam- 
age by ice and spring freshets. An overfall of one thousand two hundred 
and four feet, forming a beautiful feature of the scenery, is thus created, 
and a water-power upon the wheels sufficient to raise eleven millions of 
gallons in twenty-four hours. The reservoirs, elevated above the highest 
house in the city, crown the ornamental hill which overhangs the river at 
this place; and water can thus be conveyed to every quarter of Philadel- 
phia, and made to spring, as if by a magic touch, in the highest chamber of 
the inhabitant. It is of a deliciously soft and pleasant quality; and those 
who are habituated to wash in the 'city of brotherly love' are spoiled for 
the less agreeable lavations afforded by other towns in America." 



3M 



VIEW OF THE EXCHANGE AND GIRARD'S 
BANK, PHILADELPHIA 

' ^TT^HE most accomplished architect of the United States, William Strick- 
X land, Esq., is a citizen of Philadelphia; and to his excellent taste is 
the city in a great measure indebted for its superiority over the other capi- 
tals of our country in the architecture of public buildings. The view seen 
in the drawing is taken from Third Street, in the business-part of the city, 
and presents the rear of the Exchange, a new structure by Mr. Strickland, 
and the facade of a much older building, a chaste and beautiful specimen 
of the Corinthian order, occupied many years by the United States Bank. 
It has since been appropriated to the uses of a bank, of which the entire 
capital was furnished by Stephen Girard, the wealthiest citizen of Phil- 
adelphia, lately deceased. The Exchange (of which a minute description 
is given in another part of the work) is a copy of the Chorggis monument 
at Athens, commonly called the Lantern of Demosthenes. 

"Philadelphia is, and ever has been, fortunate in the character of her 
citizens; and it may be said with truth that there is not a metropolis in the 
world where the effects of a liberal and enterprising public spirit are so 
clearly manifest. This is particularly true of all that ministers to the com- 
fort of the inhabitant — such as excellence of markets, abundance of water, 
cleanliness of streets, baths, public conveyances, etc. The wooden, or 
block pavement, common in Russia, is now under experiment in the prin- 
cipal street, and promises to add another to the luxuries of the city; and 
among the later instances of liberal and refined taste is the purchase by 
the city of a beautiful estate on the banks of the Schuylkill, and its appro- 
priation to the purposes of a cemetery. It occupies very high ground, of an 
uneven surface, plentifully shaded with venerable trees, and is already, 
perhaps, the most lovely burial-place in the world, after the Necropolis of 
Scutari. 

" Philadelphia is a favorite residence of foreigners among us; and though, 
in all its features, unlike foreign capitals, it possesses more than all other 
cities of the United States, the advantage of highly educated and refined 
society. I speak here of what is constant and resident; as Washington, 
during the session of Congress, and Boston, during one or two of the hot 
months, become in turn the focus of the foreign and floating society of the 
country. Perhaps the climate of Philadelphia may have had its effect in 
making it the home of those accustomed to the equable temperatures of 
the continent; for Boston, nine months of the year, is uninhabitable from 
its acrid winds and clammy cold; and Washington, on the other hand, is 
unhealthy during a considerable part of the summer. New York, though 
the metropolis of the country, is more a place of transit than of residence, 
to those not engaged in its business or commerce — a result partly of the 
unhealthfulness of its water and the effluvia of its streets, but partly, too, 
of the unsettled and shifting character of its society." 



3* 



VIEW OF THE UNITED STATES BANK, 
PHILADELPHIA 

THIS is one of those chaste and beautiful buildings which has given 
the public architecture of Philadelphia a superiority over that of every 
other city of our country. It needs but that its fair marble should be weather 
fretted and stained^ to express perfectly to the eye the model of one of the 
most graceful temples of antiquity. The severe simplicity of taste which 
breathes through this Greek model, however, is not adapted to private 
buildings; and in a certain kind of simplicity, or rather want of ornament, 
lies the fault found by every eye in the domestic architecture of this city. 
The chess-board regularity of the streets, so embarrassing to a stranger, 
as well as tiresome to the gaze, requires a more varied, if not a more ornate 
style. The hundreds of houses that resemble each other in every distin- 
guishable particular occasion a bewilderment and fatigue to the unaccus- 
tomed eye, which a citizen of Philadelphia can scarcely comprehend. 

"The uniformity and plainness which William Penn has bequeathed 
in such an abiding legacy to Philadelphia, however, is seen but by a faint 
penumbra in the dress of the inhabitants, or in their equipages, style of liv- 
ing, and costliness of furniture and entertainment. A faint shadow of orig- 
inal simplicity there still certainly exists, visible through all the departures 
from the spirit of Quakerism; and it is a leaven of taste and elegance in the 
ferment of luxury which has given Philadelphia emphatically a character 
for refinement. A more delightful temper and tone of society, a more en- 
joyable state of the exercise and mode of hospitality, or a more comfortable 
metropolis to live in, certainly does not exist this side of the water. A 
European would prefer Philadelphia to every other residence in the United 
States." 



318 



ill: 




FAIRMOUNT GARDENS, PHILADELPHIA 

THE walks here, though not extensive, are delightful, from the views 
they command over the Schuylkill. In the early days of William Penn, 
this side of the river was covered by a thick wood; and so late as Franklin's 
time (who 'frequented it,' says the annalist, 'with his companions, Osborne, 
Watson, and Ralph'), the banks afforded a secluded and rural retreat, 
much resorted to by swimmers. The name of Schuylkill, given it by the 
Dutch, is said to express 'Hidden River,' as its mouth is not visible in as- 
cending the Delaware. The Indians called it by a name meaning 'The 
Mother;' and a small branch of the Schuylkill, higher up, called 'Maiden 
Creek,' was named by them, Ontelaunee, meaning 'the little daughter of a 
great mother.' 

"Among the recorded amusements of Philadelphia, however, the 'Mes- 
chianza' is the most remarkable. This was a tilt and tournament, with 
other entertainments, given to Sir William Howe, by the officers of his 
army, on quitting his command to return to England. The company were 
embarked on the Delaware, in a grand regatta of three divisions; and with 
a band of music to each, and an outer line of barges to keep off the crowd 
of the uninvited, they proceeded to the neighboring country-seat of Mr. 
Wharton. The tilting -ground was a lawn of one hundred and fifty yards 
on each side, lined with troops, and faced with several pavilions; and in 
front of each sat seven young ladies, dressed in Turkish costume, and wear- 
ing on their turbans the prizes for the victors. At the sound of a trumpet 
1 seven white knights, habited in white and red silk, and mounted on grey 
chargers, richly caparisoned,' made their appearance, followed by seven 
esquires and a herald in his robe. After saluting the ladies, the herald pro- 
claimed their challenge in the name of the Knights of the blanded Rose. 

"At the third repetition of the challenge, a black herald made his appear- 
ance and accepted the challenge in the name of the Knights of the Burning 
Mountain. Immediately after entered the black knights, with tunics rep- 
resenting a mountain in flames, and the motto, 'I burn for ever,' and the 
tournament began. They fought with spears, pistols and swords, and the 
contest was long and desperate; but whether the white or black knights 
had the victory is not recorded. 

"After the tilt, the company ascended a flight of steps to a banqueting - 
room, and after the banquet, a ball-room was flung open, 'decked with 
eighty-five mirrors, festoons of flowers, and a light and elegant style of paint- 
ing.' Four drawing-rooms on the same floor contained side-boards with 
refreshments. The knights and their ladies opened the ball, and at twelve 
o'clock followed fire-works, and a supper, which was spread in a saloon of 
two hundred and ten by forty feet, ornamented with fifty-six large pier 
glasses, and containing alcoves with side-tables. There were one hundred 
branch lights, eighteen lustres, three hundred wax tapers on the supper- 
tables, four hundred and thirty covers, and twelve hundred dishes. They 
were waited on by a great number of black slaves in Oriental dresses, with 
silver collars and bracelets." 



320 



LAYING A LONG-DISTANCE LINE 



By FREDERICK RICE, JR. 




E all hated to get up. The air 
is sharp in October in the 
Connecticut hills, and the 
thick blankets weighed none 
too heavily upon the slumber- 
ing camp. Drowsily I poked my nose from 
out the canyon formed by two pillows and 
saw through the open door of the tent that 
the white fog had collected in a great bank 
along the stream below our camping- 
ground. 

"All out! Hustle now," called the chief, 
and there was a sudden upheaval in every 



not feel myself privileged to talk while the 
strenuousness of the morning duties was 
on, but later he told me more or less about 
his functions. The cook is the autocrat in 
this construction-camp, requiring the as- 
sistance of three helpers and displaying 
surprising culinary skill. Indeed, this offi- 
cial told me in an interval of quiet later in 
the morning that he had at one time been 
chef in a Viennese restaurant. Certainly 
no hotel breakfast, whether at one of the 
older caravansaries in New York or at 
some up-to-date place of refection such as 




The camp in a Conned icut pasture. The construction-crew always chooses a spot that is safe, 
that is accessible to running water, and still on high ground 



one of forty cot-beds. No late sleeping in a 
telephone-construction camp. The men 
who were building one of the long-distance 
lines between New York and Boston were 
expected to make their daily average of 
3,000 feet, and that means long hours and 
hard work. I had come into camp the day 
before with my camera, and had been wel- 
comed with a general intimation that I 
might share the gang's bed and grub if only 
I did n't "git in the way." 

Mindful of this adjuration not to make 

a nuisance of myself, I watched the work 

of the camp cook until some time after 

breakfast had been served. To him I did 

322 



the Hotel Astorico, could surpass in satis- 
faction the repast of coffee, rolls, and beef- 
steak, "with fixings," which was served to 
us that morning. 

It may seem strange that a telephone- 
line between the two most populous cen- 
tres of the new world should be built under 
such conditions by men living in tents. 
But the direction which the line takes is 
through the most thinly populated part of 
Connecticut, — that, in a general way, 
which is followed by the air-line route be- 
tween New York and Boston, — so that 
more or less sleeping out nights is inevita- 
ble. Besides, it is a fact that living under 




Work for the " trimmers. " Much of the route lies over private right-of-way, through 

badly tangled country 



3 2 4 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



canvas proves to be far more comfortable 
than putting up at indifferent lodgings in 
small manufacturing-towns. 

Breakfast was over by quarter past six, 
and the men started on their day's task, a 
stretch of interesting operations which I 
had a good chance to observe. 

A preliminary study of the route to be 
followed had, I found, been very carefully 
mapped out for the construction-crew 



needed to support the sixty-odd wires that 
must be stretched upon the cross-arms. 
Throughout the country, so he informed 
me, the supply is getting rather scant, and 
already the management of the Bell tele- 
phone system is at work on experiments in 
soaking the wood with preservative, so 
that the poles may last longer. It is the 
policy of each Bell company to secure the 
requisite timber so far as possible from the 




The newly invented "reel-wagon." Apparatus for stringing ten wires simultaneously 



months before. Their task was merely to 
follow directions. The places for pole- 
holes had all been marked by the engineers 
who went over the route last spring. Only 
in very exceptional cases is it allowable to 
plant a pole anywhere except where the ex- 
perts intended to put it. 

The poles themselves are, of course, the 
mainstay of the system. The chief of con- 
struction told me that it is nowadays not 
so easy to get the great two-ton and three- 
ton shafts of chestnut timber which are 



neighborhood through which its lines pass, 
and many a farmer who has good chestnut 
timber on his land earns a few dollars by 
selling it shortly before the construction- 
crew passes through. Incidentally, the 
chief expressed to me a wonder that more 
landowners are not setting out chestnut 
timber on otherwise unproductive acres; 
for he believes that in the near future these 
trees, which grow to sufficient maturity in 
about twenty-five or thirty years, will be 
in even greater demand than now. 



LAYING A LONG-DISTANCE LINE 



325 




The old manner of pole-raising. A score of men raised the two-ton stick of timber upward with 

long pike poles 



However, to return to our construction - 
crew: let us note that the company is di- 
vided into workers of various kinds. The 
poles have already been laid out beside the 
spots where the holes are to be dug. The 
vanguard of the crew consists of the " trim- 
mers," who have to cut into as badly tan- 
gled thickets as one could expect to see 
anywhere. Our picture reveals the nature 
of much of the Connecticut jungle through 
which the line passes. Following the " trim- 
mers" come the " diggers." These men 
must prepare holes six or eight feet deep in 
the stony soil — and no easy task it is. I 
happened to be fortunate enough in my 
morning of observation to see one of those 
frequent cases where dynamite had to be 
used in excavating, and I succeeded in get- 
ting a good snapshot of the explosion. The 
men used several pounds of forty per cent, 
nitroglycerine. An electric battery served 
to discharge the cap, and you may be sure 



that we were all well out of the way at the 
time it went off. 

Close upon the " diggers" came the 
"gainers" — men whose business it was 
to prepare the poles for the cross-arms, 
stripping the great chestnut shafts and cut- 
ting the places into which the arms fit. 
Behind the " gainers" are the "pole-set- 
ters," twenty or more in number under the 
old method, though in this party only four 
or five were necessary. That last statement 
calls attention to an interesting feature. 
Almost everybody has seen along suburban 
highways a gang of twenty or thirty men 
struggling with pike-poles against a huge 
stick of timber, seeking to pry it into an 
upright position, and most of us have spec- 
ulated on what would happen if one or two 
of the men weakened under the load and 
the big club should come down upon the 
whole crowd. 

In this particular construction-party the 



326 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




The new method of lifting a pole. Two horses and four men can now do the work of twenty 
— using the pole-derrick fastened to a heavy wagon 



pike-pole has been laid aside. An appli- 
ance is used — one simple enough, but 
evidently the work of a genius — which 
saves much of the labor and most of the 
pains. This is a pole-derrick, hitched to a 
heavy wagon, over which it straddles with 
its twenty-eight foot spars like one of the 
equiangular triangles we used to demon- 
strate in high school. This apparatus is 
made fast by guying with wire rope to near- 
by trees, or, failing the trees, to crowbars 
driven into the ground. When in position, 
it is capable of standing the weight of the 
two-thousand-pound pole as it is swung 
upward by means of a line attached just 
above the centre of gravity and connecting 
over a pulley at the top of the triangle with 
a pair of horses down the road. As the 
team starts on its steady, even pull the stick 
swings clear of the ground and a couple of 
men are able to guide its butt until it is just 
over the hole. Then the team is backed up 
and the pole sinks into position, whereup- 



on the horses are hitched up once more 
and the whole apparatus moves on to the 
next hole. The chief told me that the sa- 
ving effected by this simple device amounts 
to about twenty dollars a day. 

After the pole is in position the fillers 
come forward to be sure that it is perfectly 
straight and to fill in the earth about it. 
Behind these rolls up the reel-wagon, which 
is another recent invention for which this 
branch of the Bell system claims credit. 
By means of five wire reels which are 
placed horizontally on either side of a heavy 
wagon it is now possible to string simulta- 
neously ten wires which pass up over a bar 
of wood at the back 'of the wagon to the 
cross-arms through a piece of steel about 
two feet wide. A long rope is attached to 
this piece of steel, and the rope is drawn 
over the cross-arms of two or three poles 
by climbers, and the wagon-team hitched 
to it. When everything is in readiness the 
horses are started and the wires begin to 



LAYING A LONG-DISTANCE LINE 



3 2 7 



pull out. As the rope goes over the pole 
arm it draws the board up to the stringer 
standing there. He throws it over, care- 
fully separating the wires as it goes by. 
Directly the wires have been brought in- 
side the insulators he hurries down the pole 
and mounts a third or fourth one further 
along. Meantime, the board has passed 
over another pole and another section of 
the line is complete. When the board meets 



the case of our party one banker had been 
found sufficient to do all the work. He was 
having a lonesome job of it, poor fellow, 
but toward afternoon he caught up with 
the party. There was a fear that his work 
might not have been well done, but in- 
spection showed that he had accomplished 
excellently what he ought. 

What especially impressed me through- 
out the day was the thoroughness with 




A chief of construction. The head of the telephone cam}) examining a plan of the route 

to be followed 



the end of the wires already strung these 
are connected one by one, their ends being 
put into a double sleeve of copper and 
twisted to make a joint. 

The rear is brought up by the " bankers." 
These are not gentlemen with funds to pay 
the bills, as might be supposed, but merely 
laborers who bank the dirt about the bases 
of the poles. One of their duties is to pick 
up anything that the rest of the party may 
have left behind in the way of implements, 
money, or other personal property. In 



which all this work of preparing a great 
avenue of oral communication between 
New York and Boston was being done. 
The importance of the undertaking must 
be keenly realized by any one who under- 
stands what the telephone has come to 
mean in city and country life to-day. To 
be able to call up the great city one hundred, 
perhaps two hundred, or even half a thou- 
sand miles away puts the dweller in iso- 
lated places into direct touch with mod- 
ern business. This particular line, I am 



328 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 




In the picturesque part of Connecticut. The line lies for miles along ancient highways in the 

less thickly populated part of the State 



told, is one which will give increased facil- 
ities to the great collection of urban and 
suburban communities in Eastern Massa- 
chusetts for carrying on ready communica- 
tion with the metropolis of the nation about 
the mouth of the Hudson River. It is 
one of several lines to connect New York 
with the New England metropolis in the 
eighteen years since telephoning over great 
stretches of country has been possible. 
Following "the midland route," it turns 
aside to enter none of the cities along its 
path. The pressure on the old routes, 
which were so laid out as to take in Prov- 
idence, Hartford, New Haven, and several 
scores of small places along the line, has 
already crowded the wires well up to their 
capacity, so that it is only natural a service 
should be developed devoted exclusively 
to maintaining connections between New 
York and its suburbs and Boston and its 
environs. 

So all through one of those glorious au- 



tumn days when the tang in the New Eng- 
land air makes one glad of our much- 
abused climate I followed the labors of 
the construction-crew, asking such ques- 
tions as occurred to me, and always re- 
ceiving ready and intelligent answers. Our 
midday meal was brought to us by the 
cook's assistants, and we ate it hastily in a 
ravine through which a little stream of clear 
water trickled. At six o'clock we all 
tramped back to camp, tired and hungry. 
Soon the grime of the day's toil had been 
removed and we met in the big dining-tent. 
Dinner awaited us: hot roast beef, baked 
beans, muffins, pies that were flaky and 
brown like those "mother used to make," 
and plenty of the doughnuts which the 
New Yorkers in our party persisted in call- 
ing " crullers." At nine o'clock we all 
turned in — that is, all except the superin- 
tendent and the cook. My last recollection 
is of hearing the dishes still clattering in the 
culinary department at about nine o'clock. 



A YOUNG WOOER 



By MARY E. FITZGERALD 




he 

I 



DD as Job's hat-band!" ex- 
claimed Aunt Matilda, nod- 
ding her head vehemently. 
"His father humors him to an 
extent that would make your 
hair stand on end. Because he likes to read 
and poke around instead of getting out to 
play with the other boys, he thinks he's 
delicate." 

"What he needs is a good, strong-minded 
stepmother to take some of the nonsense 
out of him," said her visitor. " My cousin 
Henry had just about such a boy. You 
should see him now," she finished, remi- 
niscently. "She had a time — his step- 
mother,! mean; but she won out. Yes, that's 
what your nephew needs." 

Aunt Matilda laughed. 

"A stepmother is just what Charles Har- 
rison is wild to have, but he wants a hand 
in the selection of the lady." 

Mrs. Hayes threw up both hands, ex- 
claiming, "Well, I never!" 

"Where Charles Harrison is concerned, 
my brother is a perfect fool," said Aunt 
Matilda, emphatically. "He was paying 
some attention to Miss Jeannette Seaverns, 
but stopped suddenly just because Charles 
Harrison objected; at least that's what every 
one said. Her people were wild about it." 

"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Hayes again, 
with added emphasis. "It does n't seem as 
if your brother might be called exactly 
strong-minded, and yet he's made lots of 
money. He must have some sense," she 
said, reflectively. "But to think of letting a 
twelve-year-old boy select his wife for him! 
That beats anything I ever heard, although, 
to be sure, a twelve -year-old boy would 
show more sense in choosing than most 
widowers do when they marry again." 

"He hasn't selected her yet, and may 
be William will have something to say about 
it when it comes to the point. When I told 
him what I thought of it, he laughed in a 
perfectly scandalous way. Charles Harrison 
s in the White Mountains now, looking 
iround. He would n't go to a fashionable 



place; said he didn't think he'd like a stylish 
stepmother." 

She looked at her visitor with contempt 
written large all over her face. 

"I have n't any patience with William," 
she finished, explosively. 

"Is Charles Harrison alone?" said Mrs. 
Hayes, amazed. 

"All alone! His father thinks it will do 
him good and keep him interested for 
awhile." 

"Well, I hope, since he's going to make 
the match, that the good Lord will guide his 
footsteps," said Mrs. Hayes, as she arose. 
"He ought surely to be able to find some 
one who is n't too stylish for him among 
the school-ma'ams and clerks that swarm 
into the farmhouses up there in the moun- 
tains in summer." 

"I'm hoping for the best, but I'm pre- 
pared for the worst," said Aunt Matilda. 
"William is so queer and Charles Harrison 
such an oddity, there's no knowing what 
will happen between the two of them." 



In the cottage which Charles Harrison 
had selected as his hunting-ground for a 
stepmother, he moved about observantly 
among the maids and matrons. To his in- 
quiry as to whether he preferred light or 
dark, his father had responded, gayly, " Oh, 
just so she's kind-hearted, it doesn't mat- 
ter." 

With this limitation in mind, he studied 
the guests attentively. 

"They're all kind-hearted, every single 
one of them," he wrote in despair at the end 
of the third day. "They all want to lend 
me books and fix my tie, and they all invite 
me to go with them. And they give the dog 
candy and go into the woods with him when 
he begs. And they don't scold the waitress 
when they have to wait, and when she spills 
things. And they walk when the hill is 
steep to rest the horses. Now, however can 
I tell which is the kindest-hearted, I'd like 
to know!" 

3 2 9 



33° 



NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE 



Still, he haunted the piazza or parlor or 
anywhere a group was to be found, hoping 
that something would "turn up," as his 
father had suggested, in answer to his com- 
plaint. 

Deep in "Ivanhoe" one day, all his anx- 
ieties forgotten for the time being, the pleas- 
ant voice of Miss Cooper aroused him. 

"It seems a shame not to ask her when 
every one else is going." 

"Well, if she wants to be one of us, why 
doesn't she join us?" said plump Mrs. 
Taylor. "I have n't quite decided whether 
she's haughty or shy." 

"I think the real truth of the matter is 
that she has n't any decent clothes. That 
shirt-waist suit in the morning and that 
blue muslin in the evening seem to be all 
she has," said Miss Cooper. 

"She is probably a poor clerk who has 
never been anywhere and does n't quite 
know what to do or how to behave. Let's 
give her a good time while she's here, and 
don't say anything about the cost. I've 
heard that some of the clerks, even in the 
biggest stores, get only about five dollars a 
week," said pretty Miss Stearns. "She's 
very ladylike, too. I think she 'd be stunning 
looking if she knew how to dress herself." 

But Miss Hetherton declined the invita- 
tion to the excursion with thanks, saying, 
"I can't stand riding. Is there anything I 
can do for you to help you off?" 

"Very grateful, indeed!" reported Mrs. 
Taylor, "Seemed quite touched. I'd like 
to ask her what store she's in, but there's 
something about her that does n't encour- 
age questions." 

Charles Harrison, up since the dawn of 
day to finish "Ivanhoe" (he had promised 
his father not to read at night), helped the 
picnic party to get started, refused for the 
twentieth time their urgent invitations to 
join them, and, with a sigh of relief at the 
prospect of a whole day free from the anxiety 
of weighing all these lovely ladies in the 
balance, went in to breakfast. 

Miss Hetherton and he breakfasted to- 
gether. After casting several glances in his 
direction, she said, "I suppose it's rather hard 
on you to have no children to play with." 

"I don't like children," he answered, 
smiling at her. "I wish I did. Father says 
it would be better for me, but I can't, only 
once in a while. Most of them are nice, 
too," he said, politely. "Have you any?" 



"No," she said, smiling a little. "I'm 
not married. What do you intend to do 
with yourself all day?" 

"Oh, just read 'Ivanhoe.' I think it is 
the finest thing in the world to have a whole 
day to read and read and read." 

She looked at him, noticed the pale little 
face, the shoulders beginning to stoop, and 
thought, "What can the boy's mother be 
thinking of!" 

"Your mother selects your books, does 
she?" 

"I have no mother. She's been dead a 
long time. My father says Scott can't hurt 
anybody, but I must ask about any other 
author first." 

"May I ask a great favor of you?" she 
said, after a long silence, during which she 
looked at him reflectively several times. 

"I'd like you to," he said, promptly. 

"Well, I have found the most beautiful 
place in the woods! Would you mind help- 
ing me carry my camera and hammock over 
there? We might take our lunch, if you 
think you'd like to stay," she said, suggest- 
ively. "Take Tvanhoe' with you. I promise 
not to disturb you, because I'm going to 
be pretty busy myself." 

"I'd be glad to help you," he said, 
heartily, always happy to be of use and 
particularly happy to be of use to one so 
friendless. 

"It is n't such a very little way," said he, 
as they rested under the tree by a roadside; 
"but it's a lovely way, so I 'm glad it is n't," 
he added, quickly. 

They talked about the flowers they had 
gathered, of the birds they saw, of the trees, 
of "Ivanhoe," of ferns. 

"I'm making a collection of ferns," she 
said. "Would you believe that I have 
found twenty different kinds already?" 

He gazed at her incredulously. 

"I thought there was only one kind," he 
said; "the kind they mix in with bouquets. 
Where did you find them?" 

"In the woods around here. It's such 
fun to search for an hour or two and then 
find one tucked away so snugly in some little 
corner that you've looked over a hundred 
times! I'm looking for this one now," she 
said, opening a book she carried and show- 
ing him the picture of